Saving Emily
by sass box
Summary: They say you can never outrun your problems, and apparently even running to the Shetlands wasn't far enough to escape Ian Doyle. Now, Emily finds herself torn between a dying man's last wish, and wanting to do what's right and protect Declan at all costs. AU Hotch/Emily, five years post-Lauren.
1. The Plane Tickets

**Disclaimer: I'm only going to say this once, so listen up. I don't own Criminal Minds or anything to do with it, just the plot of this story and Emily's new identity as Sophie MacKinnon.**

**A/N: This is my first Criminal Minds fanfic so far, it's just an idea I've been playing with for some time. Anyways, I hope it's not too OOC. If you like it, please leave me a review!**

**Chapter I**

Aaron Hotchner raised his fist to knock on Strauss's door with something like dread gathering in the pit of his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he tapped on the door. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything questionable to get himself called into her office.

"Come in," she called.

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned the doorknob cautiously, opening the door and taking a few steps into her office.

"Sit down," Strauss said, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. She watched until he had settled himself, folding his hands in his lap. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No, ma'am," he replied, meeting her gaze steadily. The knot in his stomach was loosening slowly. "But please, fill me in."

"Look, for the past five years all you've done is work," she said, putting on her glasses and looking at him pointedly over the tops of her lenses. "It's time you took a vacation."

"I do," Hotch said quietly. "A week, every summer. Jack and I go to the cottage." He leaned forward slightly in his chair, resting his palms on his knees. Her office was cool and somewhat dark, furnished neatly in glossy mahogany.

"That's not nearly as much as you deserve," Strauss said mildly, her gaze softening, which was a total curveball. "You're working yourself to the bone, have been ever since-" She bit back the name, watched him struggle internally against flinching for a second and then give in and jerk away. He blinked, regaining his stoic composure in a fraction of a second.

Averting her gaze quickly to study the perfect row of pens on her desk, she took a deep breath and continued, "You're always either here or with Jack. Not that that's a bad thing, you're obviously a dedicated father." She examined her nails briefly, tacking on the last sentence so she didn't sound judgmental.

"How can I take a vacation when there are still psychos out there taking innocent lives?" demanded Hotch with quiet intensity, meeting her eyes. "If I can put just a few away, we're making a difference. That's more important than any vacation."

Strauss sighed, and reached into her desk, pulling out a monogrammed envelope of thick, cream-coloured paper. She handed it to him with a small smile. "Open it."

Eyebrows raised, Hotch took the envelope delicately, like it might explode if handled roughly, and took the proffered shiny silver letter opener to slit it open. He pulled out two airplane tickets, and looked over at her, frowning. "I can't just leave Jack," he protested, sliding the envelope across the table.

"I already talked to Jessica. She thinks it's a fantastic idea, and she's more than willing to take Jack for a month," Strauss said. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded and a somewhat smug smile on her face. "I guess it's settled then. You might want to go home and start packing, your flight leaves tomorrow."

With a resigned sigh, Hotch stood up and pushed in his chair, preparing to leave. He padded across the thick carpet and turned around at the door. "Strauss? Thank you," he said, tucking the envelope into the inside pocket of his blazer.

He didn't look back, but if he had, he would have seen her small smile, not smug in the least.

It was early, but the airport was already bustling with people in a rush, toting bulging suitcases and crying kids, frowns settled firmly on their faces. Taking a deep breath, Hotch unloaded his one black suitcase from the back of the taxi and straightened his tie, water dripping onto his hair from the bus shelter above his head. It was a dreary day, drizzly and cold. It wasn't exactly ideal weather for a vacation. He closed the trunk and wheeled his suitcase into the main building, trying to figure out exactly where he was supposed to be. He hadn't flown commercial in years, and the change in environment was disconcerting. He pulled his boarding pass and ticket from his breast pocket and consulted them, trying to orient himself. His eyes flicked up to the large signs over various doorways. 11A. That was where he was supposed to be. Straightening up, he began to wheel his suitcase over the reflective marble floor towards the gate, dodging clumps of people, all hampered by the search for people they knew and their luggage. God, this was brutal. He checked his watch: 4:45 am. Stifling a yawn, he looked around for a coffee shop. This was the airport, for crying out loud. There had to be a Starbucks or something of that nature around here somewhere.

With another yawn, this time hidden behind his palm, he gave up on the coffee and headed towards security. This always made him nervous, even though he'd pored over the restrictions and made sure they knew that these were special circumstances and he was allowed to carry his pistol. Even though the line for his specific flight out of Quantico was fairly short, all things considered, he figured he'd lost a few years out of his lifetime by the time he was through customs and all the security points and settled on the plane, where he immediately pulled out his laptop and began to do reports until well after the plane had taxied down the runway and was in the air.

Hotch closed the laptop slowly and looked dreamily out of the window, head fogged with exhaustion and legalese. Virginia had fallen away and was buried behind snatches of white cloud, like cotton balls had somehow gotten stuck in the stratosphere. It looked so peaceful with the sun shining despite the rain back on earth. For a minute, his spirits lifted and his heart soared with something like hope. Settling back his seat, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

He woke up hours later to the pilot announcing the descent. Blinking rapidly, he rubbed his eyes, wide-awake in an instant. To his surprise, there was a small thrum of excitement building in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't expected to actually look forward to this. As far as he was concerned, he had been taking this vacation simply to make Strauss get off his case. Leaning closer to the window, he looked out at the rolling hills of Scotland. It was so beautiful, in a rugged, austere way. He smiled to himself as the plane glided lower and lower. He heard the mechanical grating of metal on metal as the landing gear dropped, and a moment later there was a slight bump as the plane landed, taxiing down the runway. Hotch's fingers found his tie, tightening the knot in an attempt to make himself look slightly more presentable. He patted down his hair and took a few sips of water from his water bottle, promising himself a cup of coffee as soon as he escaped from the hell that was the airport.

An hour later, he stood outside the Edinburgh Airport, loading his bags into the trunk of a waiting cab. He opened the back door and slid into the back. "The King James Hotel, please," he said to the driver with a smile, straightening the lapels of his slightly rumpled dove-gray blazer.

"First time in Edinburgh?" asked the driver in a thick Scottish burr, putting his hands on the wheel and beginning to navigate the taxi out into the steady stream of traffic leaving the airport.

"That obvious, huh?" replied Hotch, shifting slightly and turning to stare out the window, trying to take in everything at once without looking too eager. The streets were slick with rain, and people were hurrying by under the shade of umbrellas, wrapped in trench coats and galoshes in different colours. The city lights were bright, gleaming in the grey velvet sky. A fine mist was falling, wrapping the city and its occupants in a gossamer muffler. It was beautiful, and Hotch was having a hard time believing that this was all his for a month. No crime scenes, no dead bodies, no psychos, just time for him to do whatever he wanted.

The cab pulled up to the curb, and he climbed out, yawning and trying to cover as much of his skin from the damp as possible. The driver, who had introduced himself as Robbie, handed him his bags with a smile.

"Call me if you need a ride," he said, giving him a small business card as he got into the driver's seat and drove off. Hotch watched the yellow cab until it disappeared into the blur of smog, mist, and traffic before heading inside, into the warmth and soft lights of the hotel lobby, dragging his suitcases behind him.

Inside, it was quiet for just after 8:00 pm. He took a deep breath, and steered himself towards the front desk to check in and get his room key.

"How can I help you sir?" asked the receptionist, looking up from her computer screen with a smile and smoothing her side braid.

"I have a reservation for Hotchner, Aaron Hotchner," he said, resting his hands on the counter.

"Here you are, sir," she said brightly, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She reached over and handed him his key. "Room 407. I hope you have a nice stay, and enjoy Edinburgh. Don't forget breakfast is from 6:30 to 9:30 in the dining room, through there." She waved a delicate hand towards the airy room.

"Thanks," he said, offering her a rather rusty smile, tucking the key in his breast pocket before towing his bags to the elevator and hitting the up button. He could hear the faint grinding of machinery as the elevator descended and the doors slid open. He pulled his stuff inside and hit the button for the fourth floor, leaning back against the shiny metal and closing his eyes.

The hallways were completely deserted and silent. Hotch couldn't even hear the faint murmur of a TV. He made his way down to his room, unlocking the door, and heading in. He fumbled blindly for the light switch in the darkness, fingers closing on air until he finally flicked it, bathing the room in a golden light. There was a luxurious-looking king-sized bed with a white bedspread with gold and green accents and plenty of pillows, a desk, a chair, and an armchair overlooking the city with a small bathroom adjoining.

Shrugging off his suit jacket, he flopped down on the bed, limp as an overcooked noodle. It was only 5:30 back home, but his early start had caught up to him. Yawning, he took off his tie and began to unbutton his shirt as he unzipped his suitcase and began rummaging for his pajamas and toothbrush. Once he'd finished his nightly routine, he made his way over to the large window and drew back the curtain with one hand, staring out into the semi-darkness. As he watched, a streak of light painted a gap between thick layers of clouds. He knew it was stupid, but he closed his eyes and wished anyway.


	2. The First Glimpse

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed/faved! It's always appreciated.**

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><p>It was just after 7:00 am, and Aaron Hotchner was sitting outside a tiny café of George Street, spreading a crisp newspaper in front of him and clasping a steaming mug of green tea in one hand, which he sipped occasionally as he scanned the headlines. He was one of two people braving the early April chill on the patio, but he was enjoying watching the flow of people walking down the street. He saw university students, toting bags of books and binders, the hipsters, riding bikes and clutching thermoses of tea, and the professionals wearing suits and smart boots, collars up against the biting wind. And then, ducking in front of a lawyer-type with a tight chignon and a pencil skirt, he saw her. She was walking quickly in the opposite direction, her long hair swinging as she moved through the crowd.<p>

Hotch inhaled his tea, wincing as it burned his nose and throat. He did a double take, trying to get his breathing under control. It couldn't be her. She was dead, and she wasn't coming back. He had to get used to that, although he'd never been able to accept it. But still, he'd memorized the way she walked, everything from the length of her strides to the way she swung her hips. It had happened gradually, over the years. He never stared at her, never watched the way she moved, at least not consciously. But somehow, over the years together he'd learned the exact rhythm in her footsteps and the beats between the clicks of her heels.

Wearing a red plaid flannel shirt and faded jeans tucked into knee-high olive galoshes with a black windbreaker over top in open denial of the cold, she wasn't dressed at all like the woman he knew. Her hair was longer then he'd remembered, elbow length, and a different colour too, more reddish brown than dark, cool-toned brown. He guessed it was her natural colour, undamaged by the darker glaze she'd used at the BAU. It was also wavy, the curls imperfect and loose, not so tightly curled her could practically see the barrel of the curling iron or mercilessly flat ironed to a sleek curtain. His heart rate suddenly spiked, and he could feel the beat, strong and rhythmic, beneath his shirt. A burst of adrenaline tingled the base of his spine, chills raced over his skin, and a flash of hope warmed his chest, blazing with an all-consuming flame, burning away his inhibitions.

He'd never been particularly impulsive. In fact, you could say Hotch was the master of control. But now, only one thing mattered: her. He slapped down his newspaper on the table and hurried out of the patio and into the crowded street. He quickened his stride as he dodged through the stream of people, a man on a mission. She looked over her shoulder, just for a split second, and their eyes met. A bolt of electricity crackled through the air, rooting him to the ground. He blinked, and she vanished through a door down the street.

Without so much as a split second hesitation, as if pulled by an invisible string or drawn by some unseen magnet, Hotch followed her, keeping his eyes focused on the inconspicuous door. He tried to move around people to get there faster, but the sidewalks were narrow and busy. He swung around a couple holding hands and grabbed the doorknob of that navy blue door, twisting it open and stepping inside.

He was immediately enveloped in a cloud of dust and the smell of old paper. Looking around, Hotch realized he was in a bookstore. He casually circled the shop, searching for that now-familiar red plaid shirt and faded jeans, but she was gone. Holding an old, used copy of 'War and Peace' in one hand, he approached the cash, where an older man was oiling the till carefully. He looked up at the sound of footsteps.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a thick Scottish burr.

"Yes, actually. Did a woman with dark brown hair down to here come in here?" he said quickly, still trying to catch his breath. The words popped out before he could stop them.

"Why, are you her boyfriend?" cracked the man, chuckling at his own joke. "I don't typically talk to customers about other customers." He polished his glasses on his shirttail and slid them back onto his face, shooting Hotch a stern look over top of the lenses.

"Listen, uh, Hamish," he said, reading the man's nametag and leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table so his jacket would fall open to reveal a glimpse of his badge, "I'm a US federal agent and I think it would be best if you would at least tell me her name, because I get the feeling she's a regular."

"Fine." Hamish glared at the younger man briefly. "That's Sophie MacKinnon, and she comes in here about once every few months. She likes Vonnegut. It's funny, she lives all alone in a little croft in Aylesford but she has real sophisticated taste in books. I think she's educated, that one." His eyes flicked to the stacks of books crammed into the tiny room and up to Hotch's face.

"Where did she go?" he pressed, encouraged and unable to stop the light that took over his eyes. "Do you have a back room?"

"I don't know where she went, I haven't seen her," said Hamish, folding his arms over his paunch and leaning back in his chair, but Hotch was already moving past him and through a little back door, partially hidden behind a bookcase. He opened it, and found himself standing in a small, dim alley with a familiar face glaring at him, eyes wide, from a few meters away.

"Prentiss? Emily Prentiss?" Hands outstretched, he moved forward, expecting to see recognition and warmth in her dark eyes, like a beacon guiding him safely to shore. Instead, he found fear and anger, no lighthouse in a storm.

"Emily Prentiss is dead," she said quietly, locking him with her gaze for the second time that day. Her eyes were cold, hard as stones. With a final glance, she turned around the corner and disappeared into the street. Wordlessly, Hotch followed her, but when he looked out, she was gone, vanishing like a shadow in the sun.


	3. The Shetlands

**A/N: So I did a fair bit of research for this chapter, which is why it took so long. Anyways, for all intensive purposes I used the island of Papa Stour and renamed it Aylesford for this fic, because Aylesford is entirely fictional. I was browsing a map of the Shetlands and Papa Stour was the perfect geographical location, but I had already come up with the name Aylesford so I renamed it, but used real statistics (26 people live on Papa Stour). I hope that makes sense, and enjoy this chapter!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Thank goodness for Google Maps, thought Hotch rather grimly to himself by the time he slid the printed instructions onto his dashboard and got behind the wheel of his rental car. He couldn't be sure, but he guessed that Aylesford didn't have a rental car service or anything like that, and although he could've gotten Robbie to take him, he felt like having a car at his disposal would have been a good idea. Besides, it was a long drive. And by long drive, he meant at least 8 hours of driving and not two, but three ferry rides.

He pulled out of the parking lot of the King James for the last time, and took off into traffic without looking back, settling in for the drive. He had no idea how long it was going to take to get to there, but he didn't mind. The drive would clear his head, and give him some time to think about what exactly he was going to do. It was unlike him to go into anything without a carefully worked out plan.

By the time he had settled into the ferry from Scrabster to Stromness, a storm was blowing up. The waves were becoming choppier and the sky and sea were the same colour: a deep, impenetrable grey, so that he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. He'd been driving for over six hours, and he was burned out. Getting the MV Hamnavoe had been a big relief. The ferry was relatively deserted, and so Hotch decided to head up on deck to see as much as he could before dark fell.

He tossed back two pills as a precautionary measure against the tossing waves as he opened the side door and made his way out to the railings, alone. With a rumble, the engine started somewhere in the bowels of the ship, far below him, and with a clanking sound, the ship pushed off from the dock. The wind picked up immediately, as soon as they cleared the protection of the cliffs, whipping through his hair and stinging his skin with salt. It was cold, the temperature dropping by the minute, but he loved it.

As the bow of the ship plunged into a trough and spray splashed across his face, he realized that he felt something he hadn't known for seven years. He felt alive, and exhilarated. Spreading his arms out and leaning against the railings as the ferry dipped, Hotch threw back his head and laughed as the clouds burst. Rain slipped down over him in curtains, washing away the salt only for it to splatter him again. Smiling, he pulled up his windbreaker and stepped back from the railing, moving instead to the side of the ship, staring over at the open ocean, cold and grey but somehow less austere than before. Maybe he just found the austerity comforting because he saw himself in the rigidity of the cliffs he could only just see in the distance.

Either way, he was comfortable here. He felt that same flicker of hope he'd felt on the plane throbbing deep in the pit of his stomach. Once he arrived in Orkney, he still had another longer ferry ride before he reached Aylesford, and then one from Burrafirth, but every minute, every second, he was closer. All he needed was to see her face, to hear her voice. Once hadn't been enough.

Thoroughly drenched even though the rain was subsiding, Hotch opened the door and went back inside the ferry, shaking rain out of his hair and off the end of his nose. He peeled off his soaked windbreaker, wringing it out and spreading it out to dry. Opening his suitcase, he found himself some dry clothes and headed to the bathroom to change, emerging five minutes later in un-Hotch-like clothes, a thick, woolen Fair Isle sweater in grey and white, jeans, trainers, and warm hiking socks. He had pulled out another shell to go over the sweater in case Stromness was cold, which he expected it would be, since it was April in the Orkneys.

He still didn't have a game plan by the time the ferry docked in Stromness an hour later. It was dark, and he was exhausted, so with the last of his energy, Hotch found a tiny B&B and checked in. About three seconds after he hit the bed, he fell asleep.

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><p>After a quick and nutritious breakfast consisting of coffee and a muffin, Hotch checked out of the hotel and dropped off his key. Actually, he left them a note and put his key on top of it, but it was too early to be waking up the owners. Making his way down to his car in the darkness, he got in and began to head for the ferry terminal in Kirkwall.<p>

45 minutes later, he found himself on the MV Hatston, on deck again, as she rumbled to life and began to ease slowly away from the docks. Again, he felt that sudden rush of exhilaration. He would be on the ferry for another five hours; there was plenty of time to get excited. How was he going to explain to her why he'd just randomly shown up on her tiny little island, almost 400 miles from Edinburgh, where he was supposed to be? He figured she'd be annoyed, maybe furious, but that didn't bother him too much. He had dealt with her anger before, but under different circumstances. Still, he pushed his doubts aside. He couldn't lie to her. He'd just tell the truth. Right. Exhaling with relief now that that was settled, he made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs and fell asleep. It was just after 5:30 am – an ungodly hour as far as he was concerned.

He woke up in time to get a look at Fair Isle before falling asleep again, and woke up for good ten minutes before the ship docked in Lerwick. He'd been meaning to stay awake, but it had been dark for part of the trip anyway, and the other part had been mostly open ocean.

Now that it was light out, Hotch was enjoying watching the scenery go by. It was an hour and a half across the mainland from Lerwick to the ferry terminal at West Burrafirth that would take him across to Aylesford. He could have gone right away, but he stopped to get fish and chips in a tiny restaurant just minutes from the ferry terminal. Then, he had spent some time exploring the town. It was one of the larger ones on the mainland, and it was beautiful. It was so drastically different from Quantico and D.C. and every big city he'd ever worked in. It was charming, and larger than he'd expected.

He was the only person on the ferry to Aylesford, and spent the entire time on deck, feeling the wind on his skin and watching the island draw closer and closer. He felt a tingle of fear race up his spine as the ferry docked and he got off, taking the written instructions the captain had written out for him.

Dusk was gathering and darkness was blossoming by the time he pulled into the 'parking lot' of the only hotel in Aylesford, which was really little more than a pea gravel rectangle large enough for four cars. Opening the car door, he stepped out into the clean air, fresh with the smell of rain and a hint of salt. He could hear the sea from where he stood, looking hungrily around at what he could see in the fading light, which frankly wasn't much, before realizing that he had suitcases to get. Well, one suitcase. He popped the trunk and took out his two bags and his suitcase, setting them on the gravel.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way up the walkway to the farmhouse, with its lights glowing invitingly, and knocked on the door. Immediately he heard footsteps, and seconds later the door flew open, revealing a small, plump woman dressed in slacks and a heavy Fair Isle sweater, haloed in golden light.

"Come in, dearie," she said in a thick burr as smooth and soothing as honey, ushering him into the house-turned-B&B. "You look exhausted." She gave him a warm smile and led him towards an ancient computer, slipping behind the desk with practiced ease and put on a pair if thin gold-rimmed glasses.

Once the process of checking in was done, she led him upstairs to the largest single room despite his protests that just a bed and a bathroom would be perfect.  
>"Thank you so much," he said gratefully, putting down his suitcases and feeling immediately less like a pack mule. The second the lock clicked shut he collapsed on the bed and promptly passed out, still wearing his polar fleece sweater, trainers, and jeans.<p>

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><p>Five years. That was how long she'd officially been Sophie MacKinnon for. But no matter how often she repeated those three words 'Sophie Tabitha MacKinnon' to herself and no matter how much she dressed the part, she'd never actually believed she was Sophie. In her mind, she'd always been Emily, had never stopped being Emily. But then there was that morning about a year ago when the words had flowed from her lips easily, and she realized with a jolt that she had somehow become Sophie.<p>

Maybe that was why she'd fought so hard to not be pulled back into Emily, because it was so much safer to be Sophie. Sophie didn't have an internationally wanted criminal trying to kill her. Sophie was just a city slicker-turned crofter. Maybe that was why hearing her name – from _his_ lips – had wrenched her heart open and brought all those suppressed memories floating to the surface like an oil slick. She hadn't heard her old name in years but all of a sudden, she had become Emily again. She'd worked so hard to become Sophie and now she was torn, trapped in between two worlds and not entirely sure where she wanted to be. Perhaps the worst part was knowing that she could never go back to one world, that her choice was final.

In the physical world, she was very firmly stuck in Aylesford, sitting in the sparsely furnished kitchen of her croft, sitting on a roughly hewn chair and drinking tea. But in her head, she was still very much Emily Prentiss, BAU profiler and daughter of a diplomat. As she got up from the table and put her mug in the sink, she began mouthing the words that had become her mantra for the past five years.

She was still muttering them to herself as she drove her flock of sheep up to the pasture by the cliff, her collie Scruffy bounding at her heels. This was her life now, and she just had to accept it. Once the last sheep had been enclosed, Sophie tucked her hands into her the pockets of her fleece jacket and whistled for Scruffy, pausing to wait for him at the top of the path leading down to her tiny croft through the woods. Once he'd caught up, she reached down to pat his soft brown and white coat, ruffling his ears and planting a kiss on his elongated head. He was no Sergio, but he was her constant companion. She'd almost named him Spencer, because he reminded her of the agent with his curly brown hair and big brown puppy dog eyes, but at Witness Protection they'd told her to distance herself from her past, so she'd done just that and named him Scruffy instead.

She made her way down the dirt path, little more than a weather beaten rut that was too rough for even the most hardcore of Land Rovers, wending her its down the cliff. It was beautiful up here, in a severe, austere way, with its almost perpetually iron-grey sea and few stunted trees, twisted and bent in the harsh wind. She liked to come up here as often as possible to think and just admire the view. The locals didn't often stray this far past the village, and so it was almost always quiet and peaceful, aside from the pounding of the surf against the steep cliff face, a hundred feet below where she stood. It was her thinking place, and unbeknownst to most people, the satellite came by and you could get cell reception for about three minutes at exactly 3:27 pm every day.

She was pretty sure that she was the only person privy to this information because she'd never once seen anybody up here when the satellite came around. She knew for a fact there was no reception anywhere else in the village, because she'd tried. But her Blackberry had been a connection to her past and she didn't want her identity to get out. She'd eventually thrown it over the edge of the cliff and watched with morbid disgust as it splashed into the waves pounding the rocks below before being swallowed. For all she knew, it was still down there.

Sophie made her way over to the path that twisted its way down through a few barren fields and through the woods, and by wading through the thigh-high grass of McAllen's field, she could get to her croft. Before she could get into the woods, she turned a corner and immediately saw another figure walking towards her, hands stuffed in his pocket and hair ruffled by the persistent wind. She froze, rooted to the spot, staring at the familiar gait. God damn.

Heartbeat racing, Sophie fought her initial reaction, which was to run full speed at him, jump on him whilst throwing her arms around him, and tell him how much she'd missed him. Her second reaction was to run in the opposite direction. She looked around frantically, but the only way out was to go over the edge of the cliff, which was looking more and more like an option with every step he took towards her.

Taking a deep, calming breath that did not calm her nerves at all, Sophie reached down to give Scruffy a semi-hug, bending down so her loose braid slid over her face. Regaining some courage, she straightened and began to walk towards him.

Hotch knew they would have run into each other eventually. There were 25 people living on this island, total. The problem was that he wished he had more time. He had told himself that he was going to explain truthfully why he'd followed her so far, but suddenly that didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. Still, at least this time he was more prepared – sort of. He knew her new name, at least. "Sophie?" he asked tentatively, approaching her the same way he would an undiffused bomb.

Breathe, Sophie, she instructed herself. But she couldn't. She had so many questions. The first was why the hell was he here? She had no idea what to say in this situation. "Hotch?" She said it quietly, unsure of herself. Then, a little louder, she said, "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" as she closed the gap between them with rapid strides.

"I wanted to see the Shetlands," he said, immediately wincing and wishing he could take it back. He'd only spent hours of ferry rides and driving time trying to figure out a legit excuse and _that_ popped out?

Sophie frowned slightly and then threw back her head and laughed. "Seriously, Hotch, you don't expect me to be believe that? Nobody just comes to see the Shetlands and ends up here on Aylesford. If they wanted to see the Shetlands they'd see Lerwick and the mainland, Whalsay, Fetlar or maybe the Out Skerries. There's nothing here to see but sheep and me," she replied, still smirking slightly. "Why are you here? Truth, please."

"I, ah," he stammered, sidetracked by how she now had a perfect Shetland accent. She could have been born here. "I wanted to see you again, to make sure you really weren't dead."

"I think we confirmed that in Edinburgh," she said acerbically. "But since you've come all this way, you might as well come back to my place for a cup of coffee and we can catch up. You can come up here to the creig anytime." With a slow smile, she gestured for him to follow her and he did, falling into step next to her as they made their way down the cliff path back to her croft.


	4. The Argument

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and favourited! It really means a lot to me. I'm sorry this took so long to get up; I'm back at school now and have significantly less time but hopefully I'll be able to update at least once a week from now on. Enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

"There it is," said Sophie, trying not to sound nervous as they turned around the bend and her croft slid into view. It was a small, one-and-a-half story building made almost entirely of bricks and a chimney on one end. The roof had initially been thatched, but had been replaced with shingles at one point. It was set against the wave of a rolling green hill, separated from the west coast of Aylesford by the woods.

"It's nice," said Hotch, unable to think of anything else appropriate to say. "It looks cozy."

"It is," replied Sophie, trying to twist loose strands of hair back into her braid. The wind was still persistent, even blocked by the small but dense copse. Fumbling with her key chain with a metallic jingle, she managed to locate her key and inserted it into the lock, twisting sideways until it clicked open. "Here we are," she said, pushing the door open wider and stepping inside.

Hotch followed her, looking around at the small croft she called home. There were a two main rooms that flowed into each other, and a tiny bathroom tucked next to the main bedroom. He was standing in the kitchen, near one chimney, but a few meters over she had a large, comfortable-looking armchair, a small coffee table with a few colourful copies of National Geographic scattered on top of the glossy wood, and a rocking chair. Beyond the 'living room', if you could call it that, was her bedroom, and he could see a loft above the kitchen. It was more spacious then he'd expected, and furnished with just the bare necessities. It was completely lacking in the tasteful accoutrements that he had somehow expected of Emily. But, with a small sigh, he reminded himself that this wasn't Emily he was dealing with, and Sophie was very different. There were no enamel vases and toile chairs in sight.

"You can sit, if you want to," Sophie said, gesturing towards the chair by the kitchen table. She flipped the lock and pried off her hiking boots, arranging them in a neat pair next to the doormat. Straightening, she turned and made her way over to the counter, rummaging in the cupboards below for a kettle and reaching up into the cupboard above for snacks. Her fingers brushed a tin of chocolate chip cookies and she pulled it down and set it on the smooth wood.

"Coffee or tea?" she asked, turning away from the kitchen counter to look at the man seated at her kitchen table. Truth be told, she was still reeling from their meeting on the cliff. She had never expected to see him ever again. JJ, yes, Penelope, if she could, Reid, if he would forgive her for leaving so suddenly, but never Hotch. She thought about him all the time, practiced picturing his face so she wouldn't forget what he looked like. After all these years, she couldn't remember what his smile looked like. Did he even smile? His facial muscles looked locked in that somber, intense expression her always wore, his dark brows drawn down slightly and his eyes brooding.

"Tea, please, seeing as you've already got the kettle out," he replied, staring hard at a chip in the varnish of her table.

"Sorry, habit," said Sophie, filling the kettle with water and plugging it in. After she'd located two mug in the back of one of her cupboards, she sat down at the table, not sure at all of how to proceed.

"It's been a while." Hotch broke the silence.

"Yeah. Five years," she said softly, examining her short nails and calloused hands. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Hotch, I'm so sorry for everything. I know I must have put the team through hell."

"I'm not your boss anymore, Sophie, you can call me Aaron," he said, putting up a hand to stop the nickname in midair. His head dropped so fast she thought he'd get whiplash at the mention of the team. "It wasn't your fault, you know. There's nothing to feel guilty about." He shrugged slightly, one shoulder rising and dropping almost imperceptibly. He was the one who had been living with the guilt – the guilt that gnawed at his insides, never sated, and robbed him of his sleep and sometimes, his sanity. The past five years had been a mess of mind-numbing guilt, nightmares, and _what ifs_.

Sometimes, in his nightmares, he saw Foyet shooting Hayley. Then she would open her eyes and look at him, but somehow her face would have morphed into Emily's, dark eyes wide and reproachful. "I trusted you. Why didn't you save me?" she would ask, before her eyes lost their faint glow and became glazed and unseeing. And Aaron Hotchner would find himself holding yet another dead body cradled in his arms.

"Ho – Aaron? Hello?" She snapped her fingers briefly in front of his face and he caught a flicker of pale fingers in his vision before focusing in on her face, eyes concerned. "Are you alright? You zoned out for a minute."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. Apparently the nightmares weren't just confined to night. It defied explanation, but somehow, she wasn't dead. She was a living, breathing woman, sitting not three feet in front of him.

The kettle issued a plume of steam and she jumped up, pouring the steaming liquid into each cup. With a small smile, she passed him a cup and the tin of cookies.

"Look, I feel awful about what happened. I wanted to explain, but I couldn't. I know Morgan's been beating himself up over this. I know he's asking himself what would have happened if he'd gotten there earlier, if maybe he could have saved me. He looked out for everyone, and that day he thought he'd failed, and he can't forgive himself. I know, and you know, and JJ know that he got there in time to save me. If it hadn't been for him, I'd be dead. I want to tell him so badly, but I can't." Taking a pause for breath, she continued, taking a sip of her tea in an attempt to stop the tears that were prickling her eyelids. "I know that Reid withdrew more, because his life has been all about people who cared about him leaving.

"Garcia masks her grief behind a façade of bright colours and cheer but she's just as upset as everyone else, but she feels like she has to be the glue keeping the team together. JJ quit her job at the Pentagon and rejoined the team because nobody liases like she does, and you _needed_ her. She was just one more person that had left suddenly and she needed to be back with the family, where she belonged.

"Rossi, well, Rossi is the wisest, and knows this shit happens. Whenever my – I mean, Emily's name – is mentioned, he turns away so nobody sees his eyes get misty." Shaking her head quickly in an attempt to clear it of the dreaded name – Emily – that was forcing tiny cracks to appear in Sophie, she looked down at the table, fiddling with zipper on her sweater.

"What about me?" prompted Hotch gently, looking into her eyes and seeing the battle within. He could see Sophie slowly collapsing, Emily pushing her way through with a vengeance. And that, that was more dangerous than any criminal.

"You?" she stuttered, caught off guard. "You shut down. You lost a friend and a colleague. You started shutting people out even more, turning to Jack and Jessica to hold you together. And when you caught even the tiniest glimpse of me, it gave you something you haven't felt in years – hope. That was what drove you to interrogate Hamish and track me down here. Few would have the determination, but here you are, sitting in my kitchen and tearing me apart."

Guilt oozed from his every pore and a sharp pang of guilt flared across his chest. "Emily, I am so, so sorry if I'm hurting you." He reached hesitantly across the table and put his hand gently over hers.

"No! No, I'm Sophie now. You can't make me doubt that!" she exclaimed, standing up and wrenching her hand free, cradling it in her other hand. She leaned on the kitchen counter with one hand, back to him. "I think – I think you should go," she said slowly, voice trembling. She heard his sharp intake of breath, and the way the chair grated across the wide plank floor. His footsteps pounded over to the door, softening on the doormat, and she heard him shove his feet into his shoes. Two seconds later, the door slammed shut with an almighty bang.

With a long, shuddering sigh, she wove her way to her bedroom, crumpling on the bed and drawing her knees to her chest. She had no idea who she was anymore.

* * *

><p>Hotch stopped dead outside the door of SophieEmily's croft as suddenly as if he had walked into a brick wall. He forced himself to exhale and take a few deep breaths to calm down. He was still reeling from what had happened just seconds ago. He hadn't exactly been expecting her to welcome him back into her life with open arms – not after Edinburgh, anyway – but he hadn't been prepared for the anger and pain he'd seen flash across her face back there. He hadn't expected to feel her pain rip him open, either. The guilt was nohing new and he was almost numb to the feeling, but he'd never actually considered how she felt.

He couldn't go back to the B&B right now. He had to be outside, somewhere he could breathe easily without feeling suffocated under the weight of the past. With a sigh, he began to plod up the small path up through the woods to the cliff. He could understand why she often went up there to think. It was lovely, in an austere way. In one direction he could catch a glimpse of the shoreline of the mainland in the distance, mantled in fog. In the other he could stare out at the sea for miles, just open, empty waves. No boats were out today, and no buoys bobbed in the water. The water reflected the steely colour of the sky. It was rugged and beautiful. Hotch settled himself on the grass, sinking down in the long strands waving in the wind. He immediately felt calmer with the sea breeze threading cool fingers through his hair. Clasping his arms around his knees, he looked out over the ocean. Today was fairly peaceful, with few whitecaps. Still, the water looked anything but inviting.

After he could no longer stare at the wrinkled surface, he leaned back on both his hands and began to contemplate how exactly he planned to rectify the situation with Sophie. He wanted to explain that he hadn't meant to hurt her, that she could be Sophie. But God, he wanted Emily. He couldn't stop seeing Emily in her face, in the way she talked, in the way she smiled. He saw Emily in everything she did. He couldn't just call her Sophie like he didn't know her, because he did. She wasn't Sophie. She was Emily. His Emily. He wrapped his arms around his knees, feeling tears sting his eyes. What had he done?


	5. The Freesia

**A/N: Sorry this took me a while, but I've been really busy with school and university applications. Now things are really starting to take off plot-wise. Just to clarify for Tigereye88, Hotch had no idea Emily was still alive. I'm sorry if that didn't make sense; I guess it made sense to me because I was writing it. I'd really like to thank greengirl82, HRGHfan35, and Rugbygirrl for their wonderful reviews. You guys are awesome!**

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><p>Hotch wasn't exactly sure what had possessed him to leave the island anyway. Maybe it was that he was too embarrassed about everything that had happened and the way he felt afterwards. Aylesford was a small place and it wouldn't have been long before he and Emily – Sophie – ran into each other, whether it was up on the creig or at the general store or walking along the rocky beach on the southern side of the island.<p>

The ferry took him across to West Burrafirth the next morning. Hotch spent the entire ride on the deck of the small cable ferry, wondering exactly what he was doing. This whole thing had been a whim – and a mistake. He'd called the airport from the B&B the night before and booked a redeye back to Virginia leaving in two days. He regretted everything. Rubbing his eyes, he drove down the ramp, looking back at the profile of the island shrouded in fog. Something about it was pulling at him like a magnet. Ignoring the tugging, he turned away and drove to the closest beach. He really needed to think. Parking the car, he got out, feeling sand grit under his shoes.

The beach was deserted, which wasn't surprising considering the mantle of fog. The April day was cold and damp, not exactly beaching weather. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker, Hotch began to wander aimlessly down the stretch of sand, listening to the sound of the seagulls and the waves lapping at the shore. He looked out in the direction of Aylesford, but it was lost in the fog.

There was a buzz and something vibrated in his pocket. Remembering that he owned a cell phone, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. There was a text from JJ, saying only two words: _'Call me.' _

Exhaling sharply, his eyes widened slightly. He hit 3 on his phone, holding it to his ear as it rang. "JJ, it's me," he said as soon as she answered.

"Where are you? I've been trying to call you since yesterday!" she started out. She was sitting in a hotel in Denver, a safe distance away from the rest of the team. She tucked her hair behind her ear, pressing the phone a little closer.

"I'm in the Shetlands," replied Hotch, staring out at the empty ocean.

"How the heck did you get there?" she asked, a tone of incredulity in her voice. "I thought you were supposed to be in Edinburgh!"

Hotch sighed. "It's a long story."

"How's your vacation going?" asked JJ, tilting her head towards the phone and crossing her legs on the hotel bed. She knew better than to ask if he wasn't offering up any details.

"It's over," replied Hotch flatly, heading towards the point. "I'll be home in three days."

"You're aware that you've only been gone a week and a half?" said JJ.

"Yeah," sighed Hotch. "Something happened and I'm getting the next flight out of Aberdeen."

"Please tell me this decision has nothing to do with a bottle of scotch and a woman. But, I have some news that might make you feel better," JJ said softly. "Doyle's dead."

Hotch froze, hand tightening around his Blackberry. "What?"

"Last night, there was a car bomb outside one of his associate's house, killing him and two others. They're all Irish mobsters affiliated with Doyle," JJ said crisply, switching into liaison mode.

Hotch shook his head as he made his way over to a large boulder and hoisted himself onto it. "Ian Doyle doesn't just die in a car bomb, JJ. Do you have dental records, DNA evidence?" he asked, disbelieving. It just didn't make sense.

"Yeah, we got dental records. It's Doyle. He's definitely dead," she said. "Are you still coming home?"

"There's nothing left for me here," said Hotch, stonily. "I need to see Jack and Jessica. I need to help with cases. I'll see you in three days." He pressed the red button on his phone, tucking it into his pocket.

In Denver, JJ was left staring at her phone as the line went dead.

Hotch had no idea what he was going to do. He had been planning on leaving Scotland as soon as he could get to Aberdeen and get on a flight. Hell, it was just after 9 am and theoretically, he had planned on being in Scrabster by tomorrow. But now, he wasn't so sure. Part of him – the part that seemed to be winning his internal debate, anyway – wanted to get straight back on the next ferry to Aylesford, find Sophie, and tell her she could be Emily again.

He sat on the rock until the tide began to inch up around the bottom of the rock. Realizing it was probably a good idea to get off the boulder before the tide rose even more; he jumped down, sneakers splashing lightly in about a half-inch of salt water. Shaking off the droplets, he headed back up to his car and dialed the airport.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, he found himself back on the same ferry, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the captain. He headed over to the railings and leaned over them, looking out at the steely waves. Hotch honestly had no idea what had possessed him to do this. He'd just cancelled his flight and his ferry tickets. This was completely reckless, so unlike anything he'd ever done in the past few years. He felt ridiculous, following a whim like this, but she'd meant everything to him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.<p>

That probably explained why he stood in front of Mrs. MacDougall, suitcases in hand, head down, checking in again at noon. She showed him to the room he'd had before and brought him a bowl of soup and a roll.

"Here you are, my dear," she said, sliding the bowl onto the nightstand and putting the side plate next to it.

"Thank you so much," he replied gratefully, giving her a rare smile.

"It's no problem," she said, walking towards the door. Opening it, she turned around and added, "She must be special for you to return."

"Trust me, she is," Hotch said, taking a spoonful of soup and pulling apart his roll as the door clicked shut.

"JJ, it's me again. I'm not coming home just yet," said Hotch into the phone. It was 3:28 and the satellite had just come into range. He had been standing on the top of the cliff, as close to the edge as he dared, waving his phone in the air trying to get reception. It had been a gamble that she would still be in the office at 8:30, but apparently it had paid off because she had answered her phone.

"Oh-kay." She breathed out, the sound crackling in his ear. "What changed?"

"Everything."

"Is this about Doyle?" she inquired.

"Of course not," replied Hotch, hoping desperately that she wouldn't catch him out in a lie. But if JJ had her doubts, she said nothing.

"Alright, well, stay safe. And Hotch? Don't –" There was a loud crackle and the line went dead, JJ's voice lost in static. Hotch stared at the bars on the top of his screen as they vanished, one by one.

Back in Quantico, Jennifer Jareau was left staring at her phone for the second time that day.

In Aylesford, Hotch was left wondering what exactly she had to say.

"I thought you left," said a cool voice behind him. "Didn't you get on the ferry this morning?"

Hotch spun around to face the dark-haired beauty. She was standing a few meters behind him, arms folded over her chest. Her hair had been smoothed back into a slick ponytail and she wore a thick forest greem wool gansey sweater, definitely a man's by the way it draped around her, dark jeans, and Blundstones. A collie bounded in circles around her ankles. He blinked at her for a second. "I came back. I got a call from JJ this morning that changed things," he said.

"Work?" she asked, arching an eyebrow and placing her hands on her hips.

"Not exactly." He looked around. "Can we talk back at your place? It's important."

"Intriguing," said Sophie flatly. "But no. Nobody's going to come up here." She shook her hair, ponytail swinging, and bent down to pat Scruffy.

"Fine." Hotch sighed and took a few steps closer. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "Ian Doyle's dead." His eyes narrowed as her wind-stung cheeks immediately drained of colour and she stumbled backwards a few steps.

"There's just no way," she breathed, caught off guard. Her hands instinctively curled into fists and she pressed them to her sides. Straightening, she drew herself up to her full height, and, biting her lip, asked the question hanging in the air between them. "How?"

"JJ said it was a car bomb outside the house of one of his associates. They have DNA and dental records to compare it to. It's definitely him, and he's definitely dead," added Hotch, upon seeing the disbelieving look on her face.

"Ian Doyle survived a North Korean prison and a Russian prison. There's no way he just died in a car bomb, Hotch," Sophie snapped. "I thought you would've known that."

"Do you want to see the file? JJ sent it to me. The DNA matches as do the dental records. I know you don't want to believe it, but it's true. We have proof. You're safe," he said.

"Finally," she said softly, moving towards him. He could see that she was trembling from head to toe.

She was so close they were almost touching. Impulsively, Hotch reached out and wrapped her in his arms, holding her close. She buried her face in his fleece jacket, breathing in the smell of his cologne. It was like being home for the first time in five years.

* * *

><p>The sun was shining, and somehow Hotch found himself sitting in Sophie's kitchen drinking coffee (not black, thank you very much, he didn't need the caffeine hit) and eating a freshly baked carrot muffin. It was just after 10 am, and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly relaxed. They'd reached a kind of armistice after meeting up on the creig five days earlier. She'd at least been willing to accept him back after their argument. Perhaps it was born out of relief that she was free at last. Either way, he wasn't complaining.<p>

"So, there's a session in Walls tonight. I was going to go. Want to come?" asked Sophie suddenly, looking up from the depths of her coffee cup.

"What's a session?" Hotch asked in return, frowning slightly. He took another bite of his muffin.

"It's when musicians get together and play tunes. There's beer and scotch and good company. It'll be fun," she said, slipping a hand underneath the table to pat Scruffy.

"Wait, you play an instrument? That's funny, I never would have pegged you as the musical type," Hotch replied with small grin.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Aaron Hotchner. Considering I am – was - on the hit list of an internationally wanted criminal, I don't have Internet. There's not much to do around here, I don't know if you noticed. Either way, I learned how to play an instrument," Sophie said, taking another sip of her coffee with a self-satisfied smirk. She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and looked at him pointedly over the rim of her mug.

"What time does it start?"

"Seven, so we should be leaving here around six. I'll make supper. You can help," she said.

"It's a deal, then," replied Hotch with another one of his barely-there smiles. He paused midsentence at the crunch of gravel on the driveway. Clearly, Sophie had heard it too because she jumped up and quickly parted the curtains, looking out.

"You. Bedroom. Now," she ordered, looking pensively around.

"Isn't this moving a little too fast?" It was Hotch's turn to smirk.

"No no no. Mick's coming. He'll, um, get suspicious if he sees you here. Just go! Don't come out till I tell you to, okay?" Sophie said quickly, running over to the doormat. "Your boots! Take them!" She threw the pair in his general direction and immediately whirled away to put his coffee cup and plate in the sink, then sat down at the kitchen table, opening a book and pretending to be reading.

"Fine, fine, I'm going!" He threw up his hands and collected his boots, heading towards her bedroom. The door had just clicked shut behind him when he heard Sophie greet Mick at the door. He flopped down next to her bed, feeling his hand smack something hard.

Closing his eyes and hoping that he wasn't about to discover a vibrator tucked under her pillow, he slid a hand under her pillow and his fingers closed around a familiar shape. Slowly pulling out the object, he found himself staring at a very familiar pistol. Of course she still slept with a Glock under her pillow. Really, he wouldn't have expected anything less. Quietly putting it back, he leaned against her bed and listened to the voices floating in from the kitchen.

"What are you doing tonight, love?" asked Mick, leaning against the kitchen counter comfortably.

"Going out," replied Sophie simply, dumping her breakfast dishes into the sink and turning on the faucet.

"Mainland?"

"Walls."

"Need a companion?" asked Mick with a grin, pouring himself a cup of coffee and ignoring Sophie's grimace of annoyance as she turned away.

"Do you play an instrument?" she said, sipping her coffee calmly.

"Nope," he replied, with another grin.

"Then no, I don't," she said curtly. "Don't you have work to do? I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

"Aww, Soph, you're more important. Besides, I'm almost ready," Mick said, shifting a little closer to her. In response, she edged away.

"That's so sweet, Mick, but we've been over this. Not interested," she replied, draining the last few drops of her coffee and putting her cup in the sink with a small chinking sound. "Look, not to be rude, but I need to go bring my sheep down from the pasture."

"I'll walk you," offered Mick quickly, snapping to attention and jumping up from his slouched position.

"Honestly, I'm not going to get lost, Mick," snapped Sophie, swiping her hair out of her face.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll see you later," he said, raising his hands in surrender. There was a small creak from the bedroom and he immediately looked around. "Is there someone else here?"

"Of course not," she replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes. "I've gotta go get the herd." She ushered him to the door and fairly pushed him through it. "Bye!"

As soon as his car was down the driveway, Sophie pushed the curtains shut and headed over to the bedroom door and opened it to find Hotch reading 'Common Ailments of Sheep' leaning against her bed with a pillow propped behind his back.

Her eyes flicked from him to the book to the exposed pistol and back to the book. "Enjoying your read?" she asked drily.

"Who knew tapeworms could be so interesting?" he said, closing the book and placing it gently back on her nightstand.

"Fascinating," she noted. Her eyes moved to the gun and locked onto it. "I see you found my pistol. Old habits die hard." She shrugged lightly and looked down, hoping he couldn't see the pain in her eyes.

"I understand wanting to be able to protect yourself. It makes sense," Hotch said quietly.

"Well I'm glad you understand. Somehow I feel the locals might not see it the same way," Sophie said. "Now, let's change the subject to something a little more cheerful than my guntoting ways."

"Like who the heck that was?"

"Yeah, I guess," she replied with a sigh. "That's Mick, a local lad. He's nice and all but he's proposed to me like three times since I got here and he can't seem to understand that I'm not interested. Trust me, if he'd seen you, he would not have been happy."

"You're not in a relationship?" Hotch asked, frowning slightly.

"God, no!" Sophie said, with a small shudder. "Anyway, I've got to go get the sheep. Want to come?"

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><p>The pub was small and smoky, smelling of scotch and cigars. There was something innately comforting about it.<p>

"What can I get you, love?" asked the bartender, giving Sophie a warm smile.

"Two pints, please," replied Sophie with a grin, holding up two fingers and motioning for the bartender to pass a pint to Hotch. "What? You need to loosen up."

Hotch accepted the glass with a smile and took a sip of the frothy amber liquid. "To new beginnings," he said, clinking his glass with hers and taking another swig.

Sophie took a seat between two older fellows, one with a fiddle and one with a pair of Uilleann pipes. She reached into her bag and took out a small case, popping the clasps so it fell open on her lap. She began twisting the pieces of a blackwood and silver flute together and put the case away.

Hotch watched her play, the way her once-delicate fingers danced over the burnished ebony wood, almost caressing it. He carefully examined the way her calloused fingers that had once held a gun with authority almost cradled the instrument, fingers tapping over the holes with gentleness. The sound was pure and liquid, and even though her fingers were flicking a mile a minute, it was oddly soothing. In the dim light, her dark eyes glowed softly and he saw genuine peace and happiness there.

As one tune rolled into the next, Hotch leaned back against the padded booth and let himself enjoy the music.

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><p>Gravel crunched under their feet as they slid out of the car and headed towards the tiny croft. It had been a good night and they were still slightly buzzed. Well, Sophie was, at any level. It came with the territory of sessions. That had been why Hotch offered to drive.<p>

Sophie took a small flashlight from the pocket of her jacket and shone it on the lock. As she twisted the key in the lock, the weak beam jostled in her hands and swept lower. Her eyes caught a flash of purple and white on the doormat and the flashlight beam immediately began to shake in her hands. The torch slipped from her slick palms and thudded to the ground, rolling on the gravel before going dead. She whipped around to stare at Hotch, eyes wide with fear.

"He's back."

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><p><strong>Just so everbody knows, the Uilleann pipes are a type of Irish small pipes. If you guys have any plot ideas, let me know and I'll do my best to incorporate them and I'll credit you for sure! Also, I don't want to sound like a review whore, but if you're going to put this story on alert, please take five seconds to shoot me a review, because it's super encouraging and makes me write faster. <strong>


	6. Sophie Nevermore

**A/N: **Sorry this chapter took so long to get up. Real life got in the way, and then writer's block set in. Anyways, I hope you like this update. Also, if you're going to put this on alert, please send me a review!

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><p>In the silence that followed, all Emily could hear was the pounding of the waves as she fought her initial reaction, which was to crush the damned thing under her heel until it was a grey mush. Her second reaction was to reach for the Glock that wasn't there. Her third reaction followed quickly on the heels of the second, and that was to cry. Tears pricked her eyes and she rubbed them away fiercely, not wanting Doyle to see her cry if he was watching. Her fingers immediately flew to the brand on her collarbone, the sensitive pads feeling the small shamrock. She shuddered in the damp darkness, tipping her head back so the tears wouldn't spill over.<p>

On the other hand, Hotch seemed to have regained his senses a little bit faster. He twisted the key all the way around and pulled it roughly out of the lock, pushing Emily over the threshold while simultaneously reaching around for the pistol he wasn't carrying. God, he felt naked without it. He flipped the lock shut and pulled Emily over to the kitchen table, feeling her trembling like a leaf against him.

Her legs were numb, like dead weights. She couldn't move, even if she had wanted to. Distantly, she felt Hotch tugging at her and let him guide her to the kitchen table. She dropped down in front of it, burying her face in her hands. Tears spilled over her tightly closed eyelids, burning her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with ragged sobs as she tried to get herself under control. Dimly, she felt a warm hand rubbing her back, its presence solid and comforting. She felt Hotch tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at him as he gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. She looked up at him, slowly regaining her composure. "He found me, Aaron. He found me against all odds."

"I'm so, so sorry if I led him to you," he said slowly, and the next thing she knew she was being crushed tightly to his chest. "But know that if he's after you, we're in this together."

Emily sniffled wetly, wiping her running nose on her sleeve. "Thank you." His arms tightened around her tiny body in response.

"What are we going to do for tonight? We can't leave until Monday because the ferry isn't running," he said.

"We can sleep in the loft," Emily replied. "Hold on, I'm going to get my gun." She got up from the table, the chair grating in the silence.

"Wait, I'm coming with you," said Hotch, getting up and following her into the bedroom while she felt around underneath her pillow until she finally pulled out her Glock. She pushed back the bolt and loaded a cartridge into the chamber, tucking the pistol into her belt. She yawned widely, leaning against the doorframe.

"I think we should get some sleep," he suggested. "Come on." He gestured up to the ladder, letting her go first. He climbed the ladder to the loft and pulled it up once he was settled.

"You really expect me to sleep after this?" asked Emily, sitting up and digging through the small nook where she kept extra blankets and pillows. She tossed a pillow and blanket in Hotch's direction.

"Well, no, but it wouldn't hurt to try," he replied, knowing that he the two would probably spend the rest of the night lying awake side by side in the darkness.

"Goodnight, Aaron," said Emily with the faintest trace of a smile. "I'm glad you're here."

He curled up beside her, his back a few inches from hers. "Goodnight, Emily."

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><p>Two mornings later, Emily opened her front door to find a small golden gimlet coiled on her doorstep. She stepped back as if it was an explosive. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned the stand of trees for movement. Her fingertips brushed against the cool metal of the Glock she hadn't been without since she found the freesia lying innocently on her doormat. "Doyle, if you're there, come out and face me like a man!" she called, drawing her pistol and aiming at the grove. Nothing. Not even a flicker of movement. Keeping the weapon trained for another minute, she finally put the safety on and tucked it back into her belt. She sighed, reaching down to take the shiny metal object into her palm. It was smooth and cool in her hand, the surface gradually warming with her body heat. She closed her fingers around it so tightly the miniature hands bit into the flesh of her palm.<p>

A person with less resolve than Emily Prentiss would have given in to the urge to march right up to the cliff and hurl the golden necklace into the hungry waves below. However, she knew that Doyle was probably watching and getting rid of such a token would be like signing her death warrant – again.

In her bedroom, she kept a safe hidden in her wardrobe, behind her racks of clothes. Pushing the piled clothes roughly aside, Emily quickly turned the combination and slipped the gimlet inside, pushing it all the way to the back corner, behind her passports. She restacked the clothes and headed out into the kitchen to eat her breakfast as normally as possible.

Even though she didn't want to admit it, the croft was a little empty and lonely without Hotch. He had wanted to stay but she had insisted on him leaving the island immediately. Doyle was hers, not his. She had no intention of involving him anymore than he'd already been. Emily just wanted him to go back to D.C. and resume his (relatively) normal life with Jack, if you could call working murder cases all day and sometimes all night normal. Deep in her heart, she knew that there was no way he would just leave her. Not after the events of two nights ago. Sure, they hadn't done anything – neither of them would have ever been so presumptuous – but she couldn't change the fact that although they'd fallen asleep with their backs turned and a considerable distance apart, they'd woken up in a tangle of arms and legs.

* * *

><p>It was one of those things that just happened. Mick was coming back from the general store with an armload of groceries when he noticed the man. It was a small island, and strangers were few and far between. Most people went to the larger, more populated island with more amenities, like Fetlar and Whalsay. After all, Aylesford's population was all of 26 permanent residents.<p>

He frowned as he sized up the stranger. One tourist was weird enough, but two? Even though he may have been rather unwordly, Mick wasn't stupid. Well, maybe in some matters, but not all the time. There was just something off about this, and much as he didn't want to, his gut told him that it was connected to Sophie somehow.

She was part of their tight-knit community now, and he didn't question her backstory, but once when he was getting something out of her bedroom he noticed that peeking out from behind the door of her wardrobe were a few piles of expensive clothing. The well-tailored blazers and silk blouses didn't escape his gaze. It was all foreign, and all expensive. She'd said she was a lawyer before moving to Aylesford, and well, those had been the clothes of a professional woman. Still, nobody just moved to Aylesford. People only came to one of the least populated islands to escape their pasts.

Mick looked up and caught the stranger's eye. The direct eye contact sent shivers racing up and down his spine. Something was definitely wrong. People didn't just come to Aylesford and skulk around. He took in the man's yellowed, weather beaten skin and his stubble. He was bald with piercing blue eyes. The thing that got Mick the most was how frail he looked, like a gust of wind would blow him away.

"Could you tell me if an Emily Prentiss lives here?" the stranger asked with a distinctive Irish accent, his gaze rooting Mick to the ground.

"Emily Prentiss?" Mick frowned again.

"She's about five foot eight, dark hair, pale skin, dark brown eyes. Would have moved here around four or five years ago," he said, focusing on Mick's eyes, waiting for the instinctive flash of recognition.

"You mean Sophie MacKinnon?" Mick asked, shaking his head and running his fingers through his thick curls.

"Sure, Sophie MacKinnon," the stranger replied, with a crooked smile. His blue eyes were flickering in a way that made Mick's stomach lurch uneasily. "Could you tell me where she lives?"

"Why do you want to know?" Mick demanded, with a sudden flash of boldness. He narrowed his eyes, meeting the stranger's gaze.

"We go back a long way," the stranger replied simply. "Now, are you going to tell me where she lives?"

"It's the tiny croft over the hill," he mumbled, slightly cowed. "65 Farmhill Lane. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," the stranger said, turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction.

Mick watched him go with a sinking feeling. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd made a mistake.

* * *

><p>Emily had taken to sleeping in the loft as a precaution. It made sense, seeing as Hotch was supposed to be off the island, even though she knew full well he was still lying low in the B&amp;B. She hadn't believed him for a minute when he'd said he was going to go. Besides, she knew that he wouldn't leave her alone with Ian Doyle, even though Doyle was her fight.<p>

She settled in for the third night since Hotch had left, tucking her Glock under her pillow. The croft was dark, and quiet. She eased her body over the barrier and looked down to the pile of fur snoring quietly on the mat by the door. With a small smile, she slid back into her blankets and curled up to face the window, where a small but bright ray of moonlight fell on the pillow next to her.

She woke up to a small, almost imperceptible bark from Scruffy below. Her hands fumbled for the gun before she even had her eyes open. She scrambled down the ladder with the pistol trained on the man sitting casually at her kitchen table. He turned around slowly at the creaking of the ladder.

"Hello, Emily. Or is it Sophie now? I can't keep track of all your aliases," he remarked quietly. Emily noted how his hands were shaking slightly.

"Doyle," she replied curtly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Put that down, Emily," he said, eyeing her Glock without a trace of fear. "There's no need for that. I'm not armed. I'm here alone."

Emily snorted, keeping her pistol leveled at his chest. "Like hell you're not armed. Care to tell me how you found me?"

"I have my contacts, in Washington, in Edinburgh, all over the world. You couldn't stay hidden," Doyle said.

"You're supposed to be dead," Emily countered, smoothing her hand over her unruly natural waves. "Besides, it's been five years."

"You were hard to find," he admitted, with a trace of a smile. " I needed some time to stage my own death. You're not the only master of disguise, you know."

"How _did_ you do it?" she asked. "There was so much DNA evidence and dental records. You can't fake those."

"That's true," Doyle said. "It was a painful process that I don't care to elaborate on."

"I don't understand why you would go through all of that to find me and not just kill me now," Emily replied. "I was clearly vulnerable… Are you developing a conscience?"

"I'm a sick man, Emily. I'm dying." Doyle leaned back in his chair with a creak, and then folded his hands on the table as he leaned forward again to gauge her reaction.

She let out a bitter, mirthless laugh, startling Scruffy, who flew across the kitchen. "There is a God," she said drily. "Suddenly I believe in karma."

"I'll be dead in a few months. I have some unfinished business here that I wanted to clear up," he said.

"What would that be?" inquired Emily, arching a brow.

"I think you know," Doyle replied, leaning forward even further and skewering her with his gaze. "I found Declan once, I can do it again. You're alone. It would be in your best interests to help me."

"I didn't give up Declan the last time and I have no intention of doing it again," she said. "Like you said, you're a sick man. It's better Declan never knows his father. What is it anyways?"

"Who are you to tell me how to raise my child?" Doyle slammed his hands down on the table and stood up halfway, body trembling slightly with the effort. He swayed precariously for a few seconds and then sat back down heavily. He flicked his gaze to the shiny table and back to Emily. "Inoperable brain tumour. Glioblastoma multiforme." He shrugged slightly. "I don't have much time left. I just want to know Declan before I die." His hands trembled on the table in the darkness.

"You had your chance," snapped Emily suddenly, unphased by Doyle's outburst. "But no, you were too busy dealing weapons."

"I just want to find Declan," Doyle insisted in a low voice. "If you help me, I'll spare your life." He brushed his fingertips over the stubble on his chin.

"What's to stop me from shooting you right now?" Emily pushed the bolt forwards until it clicked for emphasis, and stared Doyle in the eyes.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You won't."

Her finger caressed the trigger, dancing in and out of the trigger-guard. She stood and slowly walked over to Doyle, placing the barrel of the pistol gently against his temple. "How do you know that?" she breathed, her breath hot against his neck. She traced the cold steel lightly over the side of his face, watching as he arched his back against the chair. His eyes met hers, rooting her to the spot. Her finger froze on the trigger, ready to pull.

"Because you want to make me suffer like I made you suffer," he drawled, the Irish accent making her skin crawl.

Emily clicked the safety and abruptly tucked the gun into the waistband of her plaid pajama pants. "Or maybe I just don't want to have to clean blood off my kitchen floor. You're not worth that."

"Ouch." Doyle brushed off his jeans and stood up. "I'll give you three days to reconsider, then I'll be back. Goodnight, Emily Prentiss."


	7. The Sunrise

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews/favs, they mean a lot. Again, if you're going to alert, please drop me a review. Hope you like this update. I'm not entirely sure I like the Mick/Emily confrontation, so please let me know if there's anything too OOC or off about it!**

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><p>Emily watched the door slam behind him, feeling slightly nauseous. She supported herself with one hand as she leaned against the table, letting her eyes flicker shut. The tap dripped somewhere in the darkness.<p>

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

She opened her dark eyes and looked around the kitchen. It looked the same as always. She released a deep, shuddering breath, sighing as Scruffy came bounding out of the bedroom where he'd been hiding under the rug and rubbed around her legs, whining softly and nudging her calves with his wet nose. Automatically, she reached down to pet him, smoothing the ruffled fur over his ears.

The tap was still dripping incessantly. Trying to disentangle herself from the dog wound around her ankles, she reached out and turned it off, relaxing slightly in the velvety silence.

Emily climbed back up to the loft, ignoring the way Scruffy whined and pawed at the lower rungs of the ladder. "Down boy," she said softly, as she crawled into the twisted blankets and closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep.

An hour of fitful tossing and turning later, she had given up on sleeping entirely. She yawned, despite being wide awake, and climbed carefully down the ladder. She shuffled the short distance into the kitchen and filled the kettle and plugged it in. She rummaged through her cupboard for the various boxes of tea and picked out a small canister of green tea, popping a bag into the bottom of her mug.

Emily pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down heavily, burying her face in her hands until she heard the kettle click off. The small pop roused her and she stood reluctantly, pouring the hot water over the teabag. She carried the steaming mug over to the table and took a tentative sip. It was hot enough to burn her tongue slightly, and she winced as she forced down the rest of the hot liquid. It woke her up immediately.

Once she'd finished her tea, Emily headed into the bathroom. Even though Doyle hadn't physically touched her, she still felt his presence on her, and she wanted it off. She shed her pajamas and turned on the hot water. It took a while to heat up, as it always did, and as soon as steam started to rise, she stepped in and tilted her head back, feeling the water soak her hair. She squeezed a small dollop of shampoo into her palm and began to work it through her red strands.

Once she had rinsed the apple-scented foam out of her hair, she grabbed he loofah and squeezed a generous amount of body wash onto it. Viciously, she began scrubbing it all over her body, wincing as it grated over the scars on her abdomen. She could still feel that wooden stake piercing through her – Morgan's hand, his voice…

She staggered backwards, closing her eyes and bracing herself against the wall. The water was stinging her skin, and she pressed her hand to her stomach and forced herself to look down, half-expecting to see blood, not suds, dripping over her reddened skin.

Emily reached out a trembling hand to snap off the water. She wrapped her towel around herself and headed out to her bedroom. Rummaging through her drawers of 'practical' clothes, she dug out her favourite pair of jeans, warm woolen socks, and a simple long-sleeved white t-shirt. On her way out the door, she grabbed a warm misty-blue fleece sweater and pulled it on as she headed out into the cool pre-dawn air.

Her feet took her up to the creig on autopilot, through the dark woods and up the path, around the corner. The landscape panned out in front of her, the gorgeous panorama veiled in darkness. She narrowed her eyes involuntarily when she noticed a familiar figure sitting close to the cliff edge, waiting for the sun to come up.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps crunching on the grass. "What are you doing up here so early?"

"If by what, you mean Ian Doyle showing up in my kitchen at three am?" she retorted. "I couldn't get back to sleep."

"Understandable," Hotch said, for lack of anything better to say. He wanted to ask how Doyle had gotten in, but didn't really want to add to her worries. "What did he want?"

"Declan," breathed Emily softly. Regaining her composure, she started, "He gave me an ultimatum. I have three days to locate Declan and tell Doyle where he is. If not…" She shrugged. It didn't take a rocket scientist to fill in her unfinished sentence.

"Are you going to tell him?" asked Hotch.

"I can't give up Declan," Emily said fiercely. "I won't!" Her dark eyes were blazing.

"I know," Hotch replied. He looped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "It's okay."

"Doyle's sick, Hotch, really sick. He's dying."

"What?" Hotch's head shot up. "How?"

"Inoperable brain tumour," she said, with a sigh. "He doesn't have much time left. I can tell he's weak."

"That changes things, doesn't it?" said Hotch.

"Yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that he'll still try everything to get the truth about Declan out of me. He still wants to kill me," Emily replied stonily. "I kind of commend him for trying to get back to Declan and make up for lost time, but I can't stand to see Declan become his father."

"Sophie, don't worry. I know you're worried about Declan, but I know you can do this," Hotch said, doing his best to be comforting. He could feel the tension in the way her head rested against his shoulder. It was a lot easier with Jack.

"Don't bother with that Sophie crap when we're alone," she added shortly. "I'm not Sophie anymore, even with red hair and everything. I guess I'm Emily now." The name felt awkward on her tongue, and tasted like suppressed memories. There weren't a whole lot of Emilies out here, since the Scandinavian influence was so heavy, but there were a lot of Ingas and Mairgretes. She hadn't had to say that name – her name – in a while. Years.

She ran her hands regretfully through her newly red hair. Her hair had always had a slightly reddish tone to it, but since the whole meeting-Hotch-in-Edinburgh thing, she had dyed her hair even redder.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, fiddling with the grommet on his Patagonia fleece jacket and looking down.

"Don't be," she said quietly. "It kind of feels good to be free. I just want to finish this, you know?"

"I completely understand," replied Hotch. "What are we going to do?"

"We?" Emily scoffed drily. "We? This is my fight, Aaron. Doyle is _mine_." She gritted the last sentence out between her perfect, tightly clenched teeth.

"If you don't want me to be involved, that's fine, but I want you to know that if you need back up, I'm not going anywhere," Hotch stated, with a small smile.

"Go home, Hotch. Go home to Jack and Jessica and the rest of the team. Go home to where you belong," Emily said flatly, tilting her head down to let her hair spill over to cover her face. "I don't want to have to tell them that you died or got hurt helping me – _saving_ me. I couldn't do that."

"I'm not going to just leave because you want me to, Em. I followed you here for a reason, and I'm here to stay." Hotch released a long breath and stared out at the ocean, where the sun was just beginning to rise, painting brilliant streaks of orange and fuchsia across the sky.

The pre-dawn air was chill, but not unpleasantly so. Unconsciously, Emily shifted her weight and found her shoulder brushing Hotch's. She smiled to herself and let herself lean towards him, smelling the faint smell of his cologne and shampoo. Her hands her placed flat against the brittle grass, as she leaned back to watch the sunrise. She felt sudden dry warmth as he placed his hand gently over hers, and her smile deepened to a grin in the semi-darkness. It was so good to know that she wasn't alone in this.

The bright white disk slid up and over the horizon in minutes, and with it brought warmth and light. Once it was fully up, and had been for quite some time, Hotch carefully removed his hand and stood up. "I should get going," he said quietly. "But I'll walk you back to your place."

"Sound great," Emily replied, standing up as well. The two began to take the path down to her croft, weaving through the woods and through McAllen's field. She froze when she got to the bend and saw a familiar figure waiting by her front door. "You should go. I don't want Mick to know we were together. He'll get jealous and freak out, and I can't handle that right now." She ran her fingers through her hair again, combing out the tangles the wind had formed.

"I thought you two weren't together," Hotch said, raising an eyebrow and fixing her with a stony look.

Emily shuddered and slapped a hand to her chest in shock. "Good God, Hotch, we're not. I just don't want him to fly off the handle or anything. I'll figure this one out." With a small wave, she turned and began to stride down the hillside, her russet hair blowing in the crisp wind.

* * *

><p>"Emily. How nice to see you," said Mick bluntly, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame.<p>

"Where the hell did you get Emily from?" she demanded, crossing her arms and trying not to panic. "My name is Sophie."

"Sure… Emily." Mick paused slightly for effect. "Please. I know you're not Sophie. I don't know who you are, but you need to get out before you endanger us all. I don't know who that dark stranger is either, but he can't mean anything good."

"This is my home now," cried Emily. "You have absolutely no authority to tell me to leave. Do you want to come inside and we can talk about this like rational adults?"

"You shouldn't be here! You need to leave, now!" Mick hissed through clenched teeth, raising a hand and pinning her to the wall.

Emily took a deep breath. "Let go of me. Now."

"Not until you promise to leave."

"Mick, I'm warning you, I don't want to have to do this." Emily exhaled, trying to suppress the rage bubbling inside her. She reached out with her other hand and grasped his wrist, twisting it behind his back and bending him double in a split second. She could have easily forced him to his knees, but chose not to humiliate him further.

"Where did you learn to do that?" demanded Mick, looking up at her furiously and rubbing his wrist where she'd grabbed it, carefully examining the red outlines of her fingers pressed into his skin.

"Inside," she said curtly, unlocking her door and pulling him into the croft, flipping the lock shut behind her.

Once she had started the coffee, Emily sat down and forced herself to stay calm with considerable difficulty. She couldn't believe Mick could be so fickle. After all, he had proposed to her four times already, and now he was threatening her. "I should probably start from the beginning. I know you're going to run your mouth and tell everybody else in the village, but I'd prefer if you kept this on the down low for a while. At least give me three days.

"My name is Emily Prentiss, and I'm a former FBI agent. I'm under witness protection. I can't tell you a whole lot about why, but Ian Doyle tried to kill me. I survived, and they gave me the choice of here or the Faroe Islands. I chose here, and here I am. Sophie was my new identity, but I guess not so much anymore," Emily explained. "I'm so sorry you had to find out through Doyle."

Mick glared at her from across the table. "So you thought it would be okay to just put us all in danger? I know there may not be many of us, but we're a community and now, we're all at risk. Emily Prentiss, you're not who I thought you were." His face changed from anger to pure disgust, and Emily watched, heart twisting, as his lip curled in a snarl.

"I was supposed to be hidden. I dyed my hair, worked with a coach to perfect the accent, changed everything about myself. I didn't intentionally put you at risk. Doyle wasn't supposed to find me. He wasn't supposed to escape from a Turkish prison. He wasn't supposed to have brain cancer. Somehow, he managed all three. It doesn't involve you, and I doubt it will," she finished, barely able to keep her emotions in check.

"You're still putting us all in danger," Mick insisted, twisting the hem of his plaid flannel shirt.

"I'm sorry about that, but like I said, it doesn't involve you!" shouted Emily, standing up. "I think that you should go. I'm done talking about this."

Mick shoved back the chair and stood up. He made his way to the door, slamming it hard on his way out.

Emily made her way to the door, flicking the lock shut. She sank down into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands.

* * *

><p>Ian Doyle had never been a particularly good father. He had done the best he could, under the circumstances, but he could admit to himself that he was never going to win any father of the year awards. He'd really tried to do his best for Declan, but in the end, his 'business' had always won over his son's needs. He provided the basics for Declan – food, clothes, and whatever the child might want, all in good quality and all in plenty. However, he had missed out sorely on what Declan had needed the most, and that was love and attention.<p>

Now, being faced with death, it was really hard to ignore the fact that he hadn't seen his son in five years, and he hadn't left the boy with any good memories. Truth be told, Ian Doyle was feeling something that he'd almost forgotten – guilt. And that hurt him way more than the advancing stages of cancer ever could.

He sighed, shifting his weight slightly on the rock he was perched on. The rocky beach was completely deserted, which was just the way he liked it. It was early morning, after a sleepless night. It had started off with headaches and progressed from there, and by the time Doyle had realized there was a problem and been able to get to a doctor, it was too late. At least it had stopped them sending him back to jail, because he was simply too fragile. He had opted out of chemotherapy and radiation, because he knew he was dying anyway; why prolong the inevitable?

Declan, he was realizing far too late, was everything he had. Chloe didn't mean anything to him anymore – the lying, cheating bitch, but Declan did. He was his son, and blood was thicker than water, as they say.

He didn't relish the thought of torturing or killing Emily, because she had once meant so much to him, but he had one goal now. That was to find Declan before the cancer eventually took his life, and he'd gotten predictions of everything from three weeks to three months. Things were progressing fast and he knew it wouldn't be long before it just took over everything. Either way, he had to find Declan and see him… and most importantly, apologize. He had so much blood on his hands already, and a very heavy heart.


	8. No Way Out

**A/N: Sorry this update took forever, guys. I've been super busy and then I got sick, but I'm better now. I know this chapter is kind of dry, but I wanted to space things out a bit. Next chapter is the Doyle confrontation, so please do drop me a review and that chapter should be up within the next week or so. Thanks for reading!**

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><p>Emily rubbed her eyes as she looked up. She felt miserable, for more reasons than one. She'd trusted Mick. They'd been friends for five years. He was the only one who had been accepting when she'd just shown up with her things and an accent that had been sketchy at best. He'd been right. People didn't just show up in one of the least populated islands unless they were running from something. But still, she was disappointed in his behaviour, especially after he'd proposed, four times.<p>

It wasn't Mick that disturbed her the most, though. That was Doyle. She had had no idea that he was ill, although the telltale signs hadn't escaped her. His skin was yellowed, his eyes sunken. He had always been on the lean side, but he was only some skin short of being a skeleton, and he was completely bald, probably thanks to previous chemo treatments. It didn't take a medical professional to figure out that he was dying.

She felt completely conflicted, but she was determined not to give up Declan. He couldn't lead his father's life. Emily refused to have that happen.

Speaking of conflicts… Emily looked up to see Hotch striding down the path, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket and looking perplexed. She stood up, opening the door before he was even standing on her mat. "Come in."

"What just happened?" he demanded, closing the door behind him and slipping off his windbreaker.

"Mick told me to get out," she replied, sinking into one of her kitchen chairs. "He told me that I was putting everybody in danger and that I should leave." She ran her fingers through her tousled hair.

"He has a point. We need to get you off this island," Hotch replied, staring at her intently from across the table.

Emily flicked her gaze out the window to the cloudbank forming off the coast. The wind was picking up outside, and the light was already becoming diffused. "There's a storm brewing outside, Aaron. I don't think that will be possible."

"I'll see if I can get a ferry out of here before the storm hits," Hotch said. "If we can get out of here tonight, we'll be able to get to the mainland and the storm will keep Doyle here until we can get further away. You should pack some stuff."

"The storm's going to hit before then," Emily said grimly. "Tonight sometime. If Doyle even suspects we're trying to escape, we're all dead. All of us."

"I'm still going to try to get that ferry," Hotch insisted, lacing his fingers together for a few seconds before standing up, taking his jacket and zipping it up before heading outside.

"All right," Emily acquiesced reluctantly. She pushed in his chair as he headed out the door. Before he could shut it behind him, she grabbed his wrist for a second, stopping him. "Wait."

"What?" Hotch stopped dead in his tracks, not making any move to detach her fingers from his arm. He arched an eyebrow at her, clearly concerned.

"Be careful," Emily said softly, flicking her gaze to her socked feet. She abruptly dropped his hand and tucked her fingers into her back pockets.

"I will," Hotch managed with a small smile. When he turned around and headed out the door, she noticed the pistol at his side.

Left alone in the kitchen, Emily busied herself with menial tasks to pass the time. She slipped on rubber gloves and began to wash the dishes, her gaze wandering absentmindedly west. She felt a spark of apprehension bloom in her stomach as she noticed the way the clouds had banked up further, turning a sickly purple-grey colour, like a bruise. She was torn between wanting closure after all these years and just wanting to run all the way to Kazakhstan to escape Ian Doyle. Sighing, she put the last of the dishes away, warily watching the way the wind whipped at the tree branches outside.

Hotch still wasn't back yet. She curled up on the couch with her battered copy of '_Wuthering Heights'_, flipping through to a random page and beginning to read, her pistol within arm's reach. Turning the page, she fingered the cool metal absentmindedly as she read. Her fingers itched to pull the trigger on the familiar bald man, to end everything she'd gone through in the past five years and to move on with her life.

Forty-five minutes later, a familiar shadow fell across the window. Looking up, Emily smiled and uncurled herself from the couch, happy to see the tall dark-haired man. She grabbed the pistol and slid it into the holster she was wearing. She opened the door for him, looking apprehensive. "What'd they say?"

"You were right," he sighed, flicking his gaze to the darkening sky outside. "We're not going anywhere. I offered to pay extra, but Garth said no. There's no way out."

"Right." Emily bit her lip and then exhaled slowly, swinging her arms a little and then wrapping them around herself, squaring her shoulders. "I figured as much. Either way, I'm glad. I want to end this, for once and for all."

"Aren't you worried you might die?" asked Hotch quietly, searching for the emotion in her dark eyes.

"A little, but I suppose it's no different than walking into a stand-off with an unsub," Emily replied. "Except without the bullet-proof vest and a lot more personal."

"What are you going to do?" asked Hotch.

"Talk to him. If all else fails, hopefully I'll be able to overpower him. I'm not afraid to shoot him if I have to. If one of us has to die, I'm going to make sure that it's not me," she said, crossing over to the kitchen table. "Besides, I got this in the mail yesterday." She held a small piece of paper up and twirled it in her fingers slowly.

Hotch barely had time to read 'Your place. 8:00. Alone' before the slip of paper began revolving in her slim digits. "So I guess I can't be here as back-up?"

Emily crossed back over to him; standing so close he could smell the faint traces of shampoo in her dark hair. She looked up, gazing firmly into his eyes. "Absolutely not. You're going straight back to Morag's and stay there all night. I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself." She patted him on the chest and her eyes widened as he folded her into a hug, his arms circling warmly around her small frame.

"Good luck," Hotch said. "Don't let your guard down."

"Thanks, Aaron." Emily managed a small smile. "And don't worry, it's been up ever since we found that freesia." She turned in a small half-circle, hitching up her shirt to show him the pistol in her holster.

"I know," Hotch said with a small smile. "Just… be careful, alright?"

"I'm always careful, Hotch," said Emily, ushering him out the door. "But, you too. Be careful."

With a small smile, he closed the door behind him with a click, leaving Emily alone in the gathering darkness for the second time that day. She turned and leaned back against the door, tipping her head back against the smooth wood. She hoped to God that he would listen to her and just stay out of it.

She forced herself to move and take a seat at the kitchen table, already brewing herself a cup of tea. As she waited for the water to heat up, she looked at the time: 6:09. She had just under two hours to wait for Doyle. She knew he would be on time. He always was.

Briefly, Emily considered making herself some supper. She didn't feel much like eating, because her stomach was currently busy tying itself in knots. She rummaged through her fridge, finding some leftover shepherd's pie she'd made a few days before in a Tupperware container. Pulling it out with a sigh, she plopped it onto a plate and slid it into the microwave.

Sitting down at the table, Emily dug her fork listlessly into the food on her plate. Rationally, she knew that eating would give her energy, which could give her an advantage. With a small sigh, she forced herself to take a bite, watching as the storm drew closer and the wind howled around the eaves.


	9. The Storm Hits

****A/N: Sorry for the wait guys, but I've been super busy. Here's the chapter I've been waiting to write for a long time: the Emily/Doyle confrontation. I hope it makes sense, and that it has a few twists and turns and plenty of Hotch/Emily-ness. ****

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><p><p>

Blinking in the gathering dusk, Emily watched the numbers on her clock shift from 7:59 to 8:00. She tore her gaze away from the glowing numbers and looked outside, where the branches were whirling in the wind. There was no lone silhouette picking its way down the hill.

Anxious, she tapped her fingers against the tabletop, listening the soft drumming beat loud in the silence. He was making her wait on purpose, and she hated it. She knew that he was just trying to make her nervous. Much as she hated to admit, it was working. Adrenaline was building up, humming beneath her skin and pushing up and out. She wanted to run. Brushing her fingers along the cool metal of her concealed pistol, she looked outside to see a lean dark shape coming down the hill, head bent against the wind and jacket blown open.

Emily tensed. He looked terribly fragile, like the wind would just blow him away. Blow him off a cliff, she thought angrily, exhaling and tightening her grip on her pistol. She waited until his booming knock resounded around the croft, before she stood up and opened the door. "Ian."

"Emily," he replied, nodding coolly. "I've been waiting for this a long time."

"So have I," she replied grimly, tracing the lines of her gun.

"Have you located Declan?" Doyle asked, crossing to her kitchen table and taking a seat.

"No, I haven't," she said, sitting back on the edge of her chair.

"Have you even tried?" he asked, eyes darkening dangerously as he leaned forward.

"No."

"What did I tell you I would do if you said no?" said Doyle, lowering his voice and pausing for a beat. "I told you that I would find you and take you back to D.C. Then, I'm going to round up all of your team and execute them one by one, making you watch. I think I'll save Agent Hotchner till last, and make you watch while I put the gun to his forehead and pull the trigger."

Emily's blood boiled, and anger stained vision red. "I will never let you do that, Ian Doyle." She watched his arm twitch restlessly and before she knew what she was doing, her muscles contracted and she launched herself across the table at him. Her arms wrapped around his waist, bringing him down hard on the floor. His chair slipped and crashed to the ground. She disentangled herself from his limbs and pushed herself off the ground, grabbing for the door handle and throwing it open. She scrambled through it, slamming the door, and running outside into the darkness.

Once outside, Emily took off running up the slope, turning her head to look behind her. The wind enveloped her, pushing at her from all sides and picking up her hair, twisting it into tangles. Bars of a tune ran through her head, the beats pulsing with every footfall. She ran on, stumbling over the uneven ground. Dimly, she heard a door slam. Panicking, she fell headlong over an exposed root, feeling gravel bite into her palms and rip the knees of her jeans.

Gunshots echoed in the night, and she looked back, dropping to the ground automatically. Sucking in a laboured breath, Emily pulled herself to her feet and took off again, running through the woods. She staggered through into the clearing, breath coming in short, painful gasps.

The clouds burst suddenly, and water poured down in torrents, drenching Emily to the skin within seconds. Her hair streamed down her back, plastered to her face. She pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes, looking around for Doyle. A twig snapped behind her and she whipped around, pistol clutched tightly between trembling hands.

"Now, Emily, was running really fair?" asked a voice from the darkness. Another twig snapped, and Emily backed up against a tree, feeling water dripping from the branches above her and running down her back.

"I'm never going to tell you where Declan is," Emily growled, alternately opening her eyes widely and squinting in an attempt to see in the darkness. She knew Doyle was out there, hiding in the trees, and it infuriated her that she couldn't see him. She wanted to take out the mini flashlight she had stored in her pocket in order to see better, but she knew that it would inevitably lead Doyle to her. She crouched down and edged slowly behind the thick trunk, before turning on her heel and taking off into the clearing. Gunshots rang out, and Emily ducked low to the ground, flares of light erupting around her.

Orientating herself with difficulty, she pulled the trigger, aiming in the direction the gunfire had come from. She paused for a second to catch her breath, running up the path in the pouring rain. The wind howled around her as she stood up on the cliff top, snatching up her hair and slapping the dripping locks against her face. Emily spun around, searching for him. She felt exposed without the cover of the trees.

"Tell me about Declan, Emily," Doyle said, emerging from the stand of trees, a pistol in his hands. "I won't hurt you if you tell me what I need to know."

"I'm never going to tell you anything." Emily gritted her teeth and looked around for a safe hiding place. So far, he was between her and safety and she felt completely alone. She looked behind her to the edge of the cliff. It was a solid 100-foot drop onto viciously sharp rocks below.

"Are you sure about that?" Doyle raised his pistol, and before she could duck, he pulled the trigger.

A rough gasp tore its way from her mouth as the bullet lodged in the flesh of her upper arm. Dark spots danced around the edges of her vision and nausea made her knees buckle. Bile rose in her throat but she swallowed it back hard.

"Are you still sure you don't know anything?" Doyle asked, accent soft and lilting. He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, forcing her to her knees.

Pain seared across her skin, making her head throb sickeningly. A small whimper crawled up Emily's throat. She wriggled feebly in Doyle's grasp, feeling his fingers press down on her wound. She lifted her head with difficulty, making herself meet his eyes. "I know nothing, Ian Doyle." She flinched as his fingers pressed down harder, blood trickling between them and seeping through the sleeve of her sweater. She shivered violently in the cold rain.

"You want to play, Emily Prentiss? Let's play," whispered Doyle, tightening his grip like a vise.

Light exploded across Emily's vision like fireworks, bright in the darkness. She twisted upwards viciously, taking advantage of his weakness, and causing him to stumble. She stood up, shaking all over, and pushed back farther, toppling Doyle heavily. He thudded to the mud, and she threw herself on top of him, holding her gun to his face. "Game on. I may be injured but there's nothing stopping me from ending it all right now." She captured his wrists in her one hand, pinning them above his head. She held her pistol in her trembling arm.

"You wouldn't," he sneered, face twisting into an ugly snarl. He freed one hand, whipping it up to connect with her throat in a bruising grip.

Emily gasped, struggling to pry his grip away. His fingers were slick with icy rain and blood. Her blood. Her hands slid over them, scrabbling to find purchase. She tried to dig her bitten nails into his skin. His other hand reached for her face, and she bit his palms, scratching and kicking like a wildcat in his grip.

He flipped her over with some difficulty, pressing down on her chest and forcing the air out of her lungs.

With an upward surge of anger, Emily pushed with all her strength, ignoring the wave of pain that rushed through her entire body like a hurricane, threatening to black out her vision entirely. She felt him grasp frantically for her, breath whooshing out of his lungs. Earth cracked and shifted beneath them.

"Emily, help me!"

She scrambled to her knees, feeling his fingers shift dangerously in hers. "Why should I?"

His eyes were hollow, pleading. "Emily, please," he wheezed, struggling to haul himself up to safety on the cliff.

Pain washed over her, making her gasp at the suddenly intensified sharp ache. Agony froze her solid, and she dimly felt his fingers clutch wildly for hers, coated in a slimy mixture of blood and rainwater. She pulled back with all of her strength, feeling paralyzed. She watched in horror as he slipped from her grasp and plummeted into the waves below, mouth opened in a silent scream.

"NO!" Emily reached wildly for the air, before skidding backwards away from the cliff's edge as the dirt crumbled almost beneath her, melting into the darkness and the thudding of the waves. She pulled her knees up to her chest, pressing her palm over the bullet wound. Blood oozed between her fingers. She shivered again, and again.

"Emily?" A familiar deep voice came out of the darkness, and a flashlight beam flicked over her. "Are you okay? Where's Doyle?" Hotch crossed quickly through the darkness to Emily, pulling her to her feet. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, tucking his raincoat around her and nuzzling his nose against her wet hair. He felt her tears wet the front of his shirt and a warm, sticky substance seep into the fabric on his arms. Moving quickly, he thrust her away from him and sized her up, pressing his hand to her upper arm. "Is this blood, Em? What happened?"

Safe in his arms, Emily dropped her head to his chest and sobbed. "It's over. He's gone, Hotch. The cliff. He shot me," she muffled into his shirt. She trembled like an aspen leaf against him.

Hotch quickly jogged over to the edge of the cliff, getting as close as he dared. He stared down into the boiling ocean below, but there was no sign of a body. He turned back to her, taking her hand and pulling her towards the stand of trees, out of the rain. He whipped off his rain jacket and sweater, draping the jacket around her shoulders while he unbuttoned his shirt and quickly tore it into strips. Slipping the sweater back onto his body, he took her arm gently and began to wrap the strips firmly around the bullet hole. "We need to get you to a hospital, Em," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied softly, flinching as he finished binding her wound. "It's going to have to wait until the storm blows over."

"We're going to have to get you warm and dry," said Hotch, zipping the rain jacket up around her and beginning the walk back to the croft. "I'm going to call Garth and make sure he gets us out as early as possible tomorrow."

"Thank goodness. This really hurts." Emily leaned against him, pushing wet hair out of her face.

"I'm going to go out and see if Robbie has some gauze at the general store, okay?" Hotch said, placing a bracing arm around her waist.

"Okay," Emily murmured, stumbling down the path. Her head was spinning and she felt weak and tired. Her arm throbbed painfully.

Once inside the tiny croft, Emily shuffled off to her bedroom to get changed. She unzipped her jeans with one hand and wiggled out of them, finding a pair of sweats and sliding them up around her waist with difficulty. She tried to get off her dark Patagonia pullover, but sank back against the bed with a small whimper of pain.

"Are you alright?" asked Hotch, sticking his head around the doorframe. "Do you want my help?"

Emily bit her lip, nodding mutely. He edged up behind her and unzipped her sweater as far as it would go, pulling her sweater as gently as he could up over her head. She sank back against him, eyes closed against the waves of pain lapping at her consciousness. "Thanks," she said, collapsing back against her pillows.

"I'm going to go out for the gauze now," said Hotch. He helped her get herself wrapped up in a blanket and stood up. He left the room, and Emily fell asleep within minutes.

"Em, I'm back," he called an hour later, locking the door behind him and entering her bedroom. "I got the gauze."

"Great," Emily said raggedly, stirring restlessly and sitting up with some difficulty.

"We're going to get you cleaned up," Hotch said gently, helping her to the bathroom. He placed the gauze and scissors on the ledge of the bathtub, and filled the sink with warm water, adding iodine solution until the water turned red. With gentle hands, he cut away the gauze and began to clean out the wound.

Emily's body tensed against him, and she clenched her jaw to keep the cries of pain in. She pressed her face against his shoulder to muffle everything. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, dampening the front of his shirt.

He quickly bound up the wound with gauze, holding her tightly in his arms. "Shh, it's okay."

"I know." She shifted a little closer to him, breathing in the smell of his cologne, and _him_.

"So, I phoned Garth from the store and he says things will have blown over by about three am. We'll head out around five. I'd pack a few things. Do you want me to do it for you?" Hotch asked, helping her back to the bedroom and getting her settled on the bed. He found her duffel and began to pack it with clothes, her identification, and other supplies.

"What say you we get some sleep? It's been a long day," suggested Emily, slipping underneath the covers and motioning for him to do the same. "I don't have another bed, so unless you want to sleep on the couch…"

"All right," said Hotch, sliding in next to her and rolling over so their backs touched. "Good night, Emily."

"Good night, Aaron," she replied, curling up next to him and reaching out with her good hand to snap off the light.

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><p><strong>I'm not a doctor so I'm hoping all the medical stuff was correct. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.<strong>


	10. The Hospital

**A/N: **Sorry that this is a little short and filler-ish. I hadn't initially planned to write this chapter because Emily getting shot wasn't in my plan to begin with but then it just happened. I hope the medical stuff is semi-correct, because I'm not a doctor. Enjoy!

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><p>"You really should eat something, Emily," Hotch said to the woman sitting slumped over at the kitchen table, cradling her arm.<p>

"I'm not really hungry," she muttered, taking a sip of water.

"Alright, well, I'm getting some granola bars and cookies and juice in case you change your mind," said Hotch, sweeping the contents of one of her drawers into a bag and placing it next to her go-bag by the door. "Are you ready to go?"

Emily nodded, standing up painfully, and shuffled towards the door, locking it behind her. She paused for a second to look over her shoulder at the croft that had been hers for the past four and a half years, silhouetted in the pre-dawn light. "Well, I guess this is goodbye for a while," she breathed, before turning and sliding into the passenger seat of Hotch's car.

It was just after 4:30 am and the sky was still a dark, velvety navy blue. The stars were out, twinkling above their heads, and the storm had blown over hours ago. In the distance, below the crunching of tires on gravel, there was the constant beating rhythm of the sea. The island seemed so peaceful in the quiet of the night.

Hotch pulled the car onto the waiting ferry, tires grating on the textured metal. He pushed open his door and stepped out onto the deck, taking in deep breaths of the clean, salty air. It was still too dark out to see where the ocean ended and the sky began, so he stood looking out at the unending horizon, hands loosely gripping the cold iron railing.

Emily sat shivering in the car, despite the heat. She could feel the rumbling vibrations as the engine roared to life in the bowels of the ship, far below her. She raised her head as the ferry pushed off from the terminal and headed out into the Aylesford Sound.

"You okay, Em?" asked Hotch, pulling open the door and sticking his head into the heated interior of the car.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, turning her head towards him with a small smile. She pressed her fingers lightly over the gauze pad on her arm, wincing a little at the pain. "It'll be good to get this out, though."

"We'll be at Gilbert Bain in two hours," said Hotch. "Can you wait that long?"

"I guess I'm going to have to," she replied grimly, curling up a little more tightly in the chill air.

Hotch reached into the back seat for the heavy woolen blanket he'd stashed there last night, and tossed it to her, expecting her to get wrapped up. Instead, she opened the car door and stepped out, draping the blanket around her shoulders.

Emily leaned on the railing, one hand holding her blanket in place, the other gripping the railing. She was straining to see in the darkness, but she couldn't see the outline of the mainland. "If it was light out, we could see all the way to Burrafirth," she said dreamily, yawning.

"I can sort of see the cliffs," Hotch said, as she tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

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><p>After thanking Garth profusely, Hotch had succeeded in making the sailor blush. He waved as he slid into the driver's side next to Emily, who was passed out peacefully in the passenger's seat, and started the engine.<p>

The sun was just starting to show signs of emergence, and the heavy darkness had lightened one or two shades to a grayish-blue colour.

He switched off his high beams and steered onto the narrow road through Burrafirth, which was surprisingly busy considering it was just after five. He supposed it was all the fishermen.

On the outskirts of the tiny town, he turned his high beams back on, and sped up just a few clicks. The road was well paved and completely deserted. Emily was still asleep, and the grey was slowly lightening further, showing the promise of a beautiful day.

It was just after 5:30 when the sun finally edged over his horizon. "Emily, wake up," he said quietly, removing one hand from the wheel to gently poke her awake.

"Wha' issit?" she slurred, cracking an eye and looking around blearily. "I's early," she added, checking the time on the dashboard.

"Em, look at the sunrise," he said, tilting his chin at the dawn. Fiery streaks of magenta and orange decorated the hills, contrasting with the vibrant green, setting the dew ablaze.

"It's beautiful," she said, slumping to one side and closing her eyes again, nodding off against the window.

He allowed himself a smile as he attempted to break the speed record for Burrafirth to Lerwick.

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><p>"Emily, wake up," said Hotch quietly, as he pulled the black rental car into the parking lot of Gilbert Bain Hospital.<p>

"Are we here?" Her eyes shot open and she straightened up, pushing open the car door and getting out, blinking in the bright sunshine. She followed him towards the main building, into the flicker of fluorescent lights and the acrid hospital smell of disinfectant and worry.

He guided her towards the emergency ward, which was surprisingly empty. There were just two other people there, one fisherman cradling a bleeding finger and an older woman coughing. Emily took a seat as far away from them as possible, while Hotch got up and checked her in.

"Ms. MacKinnon?" asked a pretty, younger nurse wearing rose-coloured scrubs. "I'm Aileen, I'll be checking you."

It took Emily a few seconds to react before she jerked upright. "That's me. Sorry." She fought off a blush and stood up, following the young woman out of the waiting room, ignoring the glares of the other two.

"I hear you have a gunshot wound," the nurse said crisply, as she walked down the hallway. "I'm going to check it out and then prep you for surgery if needed. It's nothing huge, so don't worry about it." She turned through a door to one of the rooms, and closed the door behind them.

"I'm not worried," said Emily calmly, taking a seat on the table and trying to remove her jacket. "I've been through worse."

"There's nothing to indicate that on your medicals," said Aileen, frowning and twisting the ends of her smooth dark ponytail between her fingers as she examined the file in her hands.

"Probably not. Until yesterday, I was under witness protection," said Emily quietly, as Aileen quickly dismantled her sling and unwrapped the gauze. The petite nurse bit her lip as she took a look at the wound, and then stood up.

"Look, I'm going to get Dr. Ayers and he'll take a better look. How long ago did this happen?" she asked, concerned.

"Last night," replied Emily, suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness. She swayed lightly under the bright lights. "What's wrong? Is it infected?"

"Aside from having a .38 in your arm, it looks pretty good. Whoever patched it up did a good job," said Aileen with a small chuckle. "I'm just going to get him to get some local anesthetic and remove the bullet."

"Thanks so much," Emily managed with a thin smile.

"I'll be right back," said Aileen, as she left the room, sneakers leaving a squeaky path down the hall.

Left alone, Emily leaned back against the wall, burying her face in her good hand. She was beginning to feel a little faint and nauseous, and was regretting her decision to have only water for breakfast. She wasn't waiting long when a tall, handsome man with chestnut hair entered the room, a stethoscope draped around his neck.

"Hello Sophie," he said with a smile. "I hear you've been in a gunfight and need a bullet removed. As it were, I'm the man for the job."

"That's reassuring," she replied drily, pushing her dark hair out of her face.

"I'm going to take you to another room where there's better light, okay?" Dr. Ayers motioned for her to follow him as he picked up her coat and draped it over his arm in one smooth motion.

At the end of the hall, he turned into a larger, brightly lit room. "You can sit," he said, as she took a seat on the chair, leaning back against the headrest.

"Alright, I'm going to take a look," he continued, sitting on a rolling chair and easing himself over to her right arm, assessing the situation. He filled a needle with anesthetic while Aileen prepped his instruments, wiping them with disinfectants. "You're going to feel a slight pinch, that's just the anesthetic. It's going to make your entire arm numb, alright?"

"Sounds good," Emily returned, making herself comfortable. Her arm tingled as the anesthetic spread through her veins, numbing her entire arm within seconds. She closed her eyes against the lights and tried to relax as he pulled out the bullet, disinfected the wound, and stitched it shut.

"Emily, wake up." Hotch pushed her good shoulder gently, and she opened her eyes to his concerned face. "You're done."

"Really?" She looked over to see her arm covered in gauze.

"I have an arsenal of cleaning supplies and gauze, but other than that they said that everything looks good and we're good to go," he said with a rare smile.

Emily looked up to see Dr. Ayers and Aileen standing in the corner, cleaning up. "Thank you so much," she said gratefully, standing up slowly, and leaning on Hotch more than she'd like to admit as he walked her out.

"No problem! Stay out of trouble," said the doctor cheerfully, waving. "Come back if anything changes."

"Will do," replied Hotch, as he walked Emily into the hallway and out the door. "Do you want to get some food?"

"Actually, that sounds great! I'm starving," Emily said, rubbing her stomach lightly. She hadn't realized it before, but she was actually quite hungry. Her arm was still numb, but the anesthetic was already beginning to wear off at her shoulder. "I know this little fish and chips place not too far from here…"


	11. The Dusk

******A/N: **I'm so sorry this has taken me so long to get up! I've been really busy and not really in the writing mood, but I'm almost done school for the year so hopefully I'll get this finished soon. I hope people are still reading, and please let me know what you think.

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

"I've booked my flight back for Wednesday," said Hotch casually. It was Sunday afternoon, and he was sitting in Emily's kitchen in a panel of sunlight, drinking a piping hot cup of coffee. "April's almost over, and I'm due back at the BAU on May 1st."

"I know," Emily said quietly, looking down into the depths of her coffee cup.

"Have you thought about coming back with me?" Hotch asked, taking a small sip of his coffee. "Doyle's dead. They found his body on the beach a few days ago, and he left you that note saying that his people had strict orders not to touch you should he die."

This was true. Doyle's body had washed up on the small rocky shore on the west side of the island a few days ago, and Emily had positively ID'ed it. There was no doubt that Ian Doyle was, indeed, dead.

And then there was the matter of the note. Emily wasn't sure how, but Doyle had somehow managed to slip an envelope under her doormat. Inside, in a scrawl that was shaky but still unmistakable, was a handwritten assurance that should he die, Emily was guaranteed safety internationally. Doyle might not have been the most reputable of her acquaintances, but Emily knew his word was gold and ultimately, she trusted him.

"I have," she replied, slowly rotating her coffee cup in her hands and stirring the hot liquid absently.

"And?" Hotch pressed softly, looking up and meeting her eyes.

"I want to go back," Emily admitted, dragging her teeth across her bottom lip. "I miss everybody so much, you, JJ, Reid, Morgan… everybody. I love it here but it's so isolated. I don't want to stay anymore, in a town where nobody trusts me because I appeared suddenly with a sketchy accent and a questionable backstory. And now there's Doyle's mysterious death…." She trailed off, taking a deep breath.

"Are you sure?" Hotch asked, his eyes widening. "I can book you a ticket and we can go back together."

"I think it's time for me to go home," agreed Emily with a smile, her dark eyes sparkling. "I don't have much to pack."

"I'll help you," he offered, with a grin. "When do you want to start?"

"Now!" Smiling, Emily jumped up from the table excitedly and grabbed his hand with her good hand, pulling him up. She ran towards the bedroom and immediately dropped to her knees in front of the closet, pulling it open. She reached all the way to the back and slowly wiggled out eight flattened cardboard boxes. She began to put them together and tossed four to Hotch.

Half an hour later, her bedroom was a mess, littered with half full boxes and one open suitcase. Scruffy bounded around the rooms, sniffing the boxes and looking confused.

"Come here, boy," Emily said, reaching out to take his head in her hands, running her fingers over his soft ears.

"What am I going to do with you?" she mused quietly, looking into the dog's caramel-coloured eyes.

"Are you going to take him with you?" asked Hotch from above her, where he was sitting on the bed packing books into a box.

"I don't know. I don't know where I'm staying and if they allow pets or anything. I can't just bring a collie with me. It's not like he's a Chihuahua," Emily said slowly, folding her professional clothes and packing them into the bottom of her suitcase. She left out two pairs of black dress pants, bootcut and cigarette leg, a tie-neck cream silk blouse and a long-sleeved rose blouse, and a black blazer. She arranged a pair of plain black ankle boots next to the pile of folded clothes for traveling.

"If you need a place to stay, you can stay with me for a bit until you get a place," Hotch offered quickly, "Jack loves you and I'm sure we can stand a collie for a bit." He placed a few more books into the box and closed the top, stacking it on top of the other two he'd filled.

"Really?" Emily looked up, trying to keep her eyes from misting a little at the gesture. It was far more than she could ask for, and she was intensely grateful for it. "Thank you so much, Hotch. I'd love to. Just for a few weeks while I get my footing."

"Done," said Hotch, standing up and brushing off his pants as he crossed the room to retrieve another box. He began to pack it with odds and ends from around the room.

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><p>"Hey, JJ, it's me," said Hotch, leaning back against the nearest tree and pressing his cell phone to his ear. It was Monday afternoon, and he was hoping for the best. Emily was almost finished packing and he had taken a brief walk in order to snag the three minutes of cell reception at the top of the craig.<p>

"Hotch, hey! I haven't heard from you in ages," she said, blue eyes lighting up. "When are you coming back?"

"I'll be back early Thursday morning," he replied, smiling at the familiar tone of her voice. "Our flight gets in at 4:30 am."

"Our?" JJ raised an eyebrow skeptically.

Hotch swallowed, remembering that he hadn't told JJ that Emily was alive, or anything beside the fact that he was on Aylesford. "JJ, I know this is going to be hard to handle, but there's no other way to put it." He paused for a beat, closing his eyes, before spitting it out, "Emily's alive, JJ. She's here. Doyle's dead. We're coming home."

JJ's jaw dropped and she pressed the phone a little more tightly to her ear. "That's impossible, Hotch. We buried her."

"It's possible. I'd get you to talk to her, but she's back at the cottage, packing," he replied, ignoring the pain that tightened the blonde's voice, despite the distance.

"Is that JJ?" asked Emily, emerging from the stand of trees behind him, a knowing grin on her face. "Can I say hi?" She moved quickly and plucked the phone from his unprotesting fingers, her other hand roaming over his shoulder and trailing down to his collarbone.

"Em? Is it really you?" asked JJ, a definite catch to her voice.

"Jayje, it's really me. I'm coming home," Emily said, sinking against Hotch as her knees went weak at the sound of her former best friend's voice. He reached up and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"I can't wait to see you, sweetie," said JJ softly, voice husky with emotion. "I've missed you."

"Yeah, me too," replied Emily, "bye JJ, see you in a few days." She handed the phone back to Hotch right before the line crackled precariously.

"I've got to go, the reception's going to go any second now," said Hotch apologetically, watching the bars slip away. "I promise I'll explain everything when we get back. See you later, JJ."

"Bye, Hotch," she said with a smile, just before the line went dead. She flipped her phone shut and put it back on the table next to her bed. Eyes wide open, she lay back against the pillows and tried to process the information that had just been shot at her through the fog of emotion. Her best friend was alive, and had been for five years. And after all this time and all the grief, Hotch was the one who got to see her. Hotch was the one who got to know that she was safe and sound first. It stung, but JJ knew she couldn't blame her boss. It was pure luck, but she felt a sudden stab of envy. She'd missed Emily. Her so-called death had left a gaping hole in the unit. It had wrecked Reid and Morgan, and she could tell it had wrecked Hotch too, even though he'd refused to show it. Garcia had, of course, tried to make up for the loss, but even though she was invaluable, she couldn't make up for the fact that Emily was gone.

Her blue eyes misted with tears, and she let them spill over and run down her cheeks as she lay alone on the bed, feeling utterly conflicted.

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><p>"She took that better than I was expecting," said Emily with a small, tremulous smile as she followed Hotch back down the slope to the cottage.<p>

"She misses you, Em, we all do," replied Hotch, putting a comforting hand on her good shoulder.

Emily stopped in her tracks, staring at nothing as she let the relentless wind tease her hair. "I don't know how I'm ever going to explain myself to Morgan and Reid," she said, turning slowly to face him. "I know I pretty much destroyed them both, and I feel so guilty."

"They'll forgive you," said Hotch reassuringly. "It might take some time, but know that they will eventually forgive you. It might take some groveling too, though."

She bit her lip. "I know. I hate myself for hurting them – and all of the team. I hate myself for leaving just when Spencer needed me the most. I hate myself for making Morgan feel responsible for losing a team member. I hate myself for hurting everyone." Her voice caught in a sob, and she slumped forward and buried her face in Hotch's chest.

He stroked her hair lightly, running his fingers through the tangled, glossy strands. "It wasn't your fault, Emily. None of it was."

"It was my fault for dragging you all into my life," she said raggedly, tilting her tear-stained face up to look at him.

"Emily, we're a family, never forget that," Hotch said quietly. His voice was intense, almost stern, and its tone made her start with a small gasp. "Nobody regrets you 'dragging them into your life,' as you put it. We wanted to help, because that's what families do. They help each other."

"Families protect each other, too," Emily pointed out, lower lip trembling. "They protect each other from things that could hurt them. I didn't do that. I let my family down."

"No, no you didn't. Emily, we wanted to help. We could have ignored it, but we didn't want to," said Hotch, pulling her close and letting her nestle her head against his shoulder.

"I appreciate that," she said softly, "but I didn't mean for it to end like this."

"I know," he said, stroking her hair again. "But know that all that matters is that you're okay."

"What about Declan?" asked Emily brokenly, looking up at him again, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. "It doesn't matter that I'm okay. His father's dead."

"Doyle was never much of a father," replied Hotch, walking her slowly down the slope towards her cottage.

"He did his best," Emily murmured into his shoulder. "God, I can't believe I'm defending him." She let out a small, mirthless laugh, eyes devoid of shimmer.

"Me either. Come on, let's go inside," said Hotch, taking her keys and sliding them into the lock. He twisted until it clicked, and pushed the door open, dropping the keys with a clank onto the kitchen table. She followed him numbly, and dropped into her chair at the table, slumping back against it.

Hotch locked the door and stood back, surveying the cottage. Boxes were stacked by the door, and the place was almost empty. Suitcases leaned against the wall by the door. Emily had packed her meager possessions quickly and efficiently into only a handful of boxes and two suitcases. They were leaving the next morning, and catching the 11:00 ferry from Lerwick.

"Are you going to miss it here?" he asked, sitting down opposite her, and taking one of her hands in his.

Emily looked out over the ironclad waves for a few seconds before turning back to the dark-haired man in front of her and nodding, lips tight. "I will. This place, it just gets under your skin for a while. I'll always keep it in my heart, even when I'm back in the bustle of D.C. and Quantico."

"I'm going to miss it here, too," he said softly, running his fingers gently over her calloused palm. "There's something about the loneliness, the austerity of the cliffs and the waves that got me from the second I saw them."

"I know," Emily agreed, sniffling. "I wasn't sure at first, but now I love it, even as I'm leaving. I can't wait to go back to D.C., though."

"Well, we live just outside Stafford, but I'm sure you'll find a place in D.C.," replied Hotch, settling into his chair.

"I don't know," she said. "I think I might try to find a place in the country, like a farmhouse or something. I know they don't have crofts in West Virginia, but I've become accustomed to something simpler. I'm not sure I'll want to go back to my swanky apartment in D.C."

"Fair enough," said Hotch, cracking a rare smile. "What say you we get the rest of our things moved out here into the living room and then get started on supper? We're going to have a busy day tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan," Emily agreed, with a tired smile. "I think we both need food." She stood up and ventured over to the fridge. Upon hearing it open, Scruffy stood up from where he'd been asleep on the doormat, and trotted over to her, tail wagging expectantly. With a grin, she reached down to run her hands gently over his head, combing through his ruff with her fingers. "All right, I guess you can have treat," she said, reaching into the almost empty glass jar of dog treats and feeding him two milk bones. Dusting her hands on her jeans, she inspected the meager contents of the fridge.

"How does leftover tortiere sound?"

"Sounds good," said Hotch, reaching out to pat the collie nosing at his calves. "Do you need my help?"

"You can bring the boxes out and pack the car," she replied, washing her hands and donning a loud tartan apron.

He nodded, slipping on his shoes and opening the door. Scruffy shot out between his legs like a hairy bullet, taking off the path up to the craig. Hotch knelt and picked up two boxes, taking them out to her car in the gathering dusk.

When he finally dropped at the table half an hour later, Emily turned and took the steaming leftover tortiere out of the oven and began to cut it into thick triangular slices. She scooped some fresh carrots and beans onto the plates, and put them on the table with cutlery. She poured him the last of her bottle of Scotch, sliding the glass across the table to him. She raised her glass, half-full of the potent amber liquid to his, and they met with a soft clink. "To new beginnings," she said.

"To new beginnings," he echoed, taking a sip of the Scotch and enjoying the way it warmed his throat. To new beginnings, indeed.


	12. The Castle

**A/N: **I'm sorry this chapter took so long! Damn you, writer's block. Anyway, sorry it's so dialogue-heavy, but here it is. It's just a travel chapter, and kind of vignette-y because I just couldn't connect everything. Review, maybe?

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

Emily awoke after dawn. The light streaming in through her window was pure molten gold. She rose slowly, pushing back the covers and padding over to her window and drawing the curtains. The light slid over her bed, illuminating the small, almost empty room, and she turned and retrieved her stack of clothes from the chair in the corner. She slid on jeans and put on a thin long-sleeved shirt. Pulling a thick woolen Fair Isle sweater over her smooth dark hair, she tugged on her socks and stood up. She made her way out to the living room, where Hotch was peacefully passed out on the floor in his sleeping bag. Kneeling down, she shook his shoulder gently.

"Aaron, honey, wake up," she said quietly.

His eyes flickered and opened, alert in an instant. "Wha' time isit? Oh, hey, Em."

"Morning, sleepyhead," she replied teasingly, standing up and stretching. "It's 6:15, time to get up and out of here."

"Is it?" Hotch yawned and sat up, propping himself up on the coffee table.

"Yeah, it is." Emily sobered quickly and let a small smile drift across her face.

"I'll get the coffee," said Hotch, disentangling himself from the sleeping bag and standing up, Scruffy winding himself in circles around his bare feet.

"Sounds good," she agreed, covering her yawn with her hand as she began to roll up his sleeping bag and wrestled it into its fabric cover. She dropped it by the door and began to slice a grapefruit in half. She put each half in a bowl and put them on the table with a knife and a spoon while he poured the coffee. She took a few scones and divided them up between the two side-plates and sat down opposite Hotch, who had dug into his grapefruit already.

"Are you sure you're ready to do this?" he asked, looking at her over the rim of his mug.

"I'm sure," Emily replied confidently, putting a piece of grapefruit into her mouth and chewing. As she looked up, he caught the glimmer of doubt flickering in her dark eyes.

"If you're sure," he said, putting down his coffee mug and directing his attention towards his grapefruit.

"I was thinking that we should stop by the general store to say goodbye to the McDougalls and pick up some food for the road," she said quickly, changing the subject.

"Sounds good," he replied with a half-smile. "I could use some water for the trip."

She looked over toward the stove out of habit, but the digital clock was dead, the lights out. Instead, she checked her watch. 6:43. Standing up abruptly, she headed towards the bathroom, where she packed up the last of her toiletries and put them in her bag.

"Are we ready to go?" asked Hotch gently, turning from the sink and putting the last of their dishes away in the cupboard.

"I think so," she said, doing a last sweep of the tiny croft. She coaxed the Collie slowly into his carrier, and shut the door with a final click. He stared out at her from behind the metal bars with dark, reproachful eyes. "I know, baby." She held her fingers out absently for him to lick as she took a last look around the place that had been her home. It looked weird and alien without her furniture and accessories.

Hotch slipped behind her, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a half-hug. "Are you set?" he asked, dropping a kiss onto her shiny hark hair.

"Yeah, I am." She turned away from the empty living room and shouldered her bag. He picked up the carrier, ignoring Scruffy's whines, and pushed open the door, heading out into the biting early morning air.

Emily followed slowly, looking around and taking in the familiar surroundings, trying to take a mental snapshot. Sighing, she opened the passenger door and got in, buckling her seatbelt.

Hotch slid the carrier into the backseat and buckled it in before getting in the driver's side and starting the engine. As the car pulled down the bumpy gravel road, Emily craned her neck for one last look at the croft, sitting alone at the bottom of the hill, watching as it grew smaller and smaller before finally disappearing around the bend.

* * *

><p>The car pulled up outside the general store, and Emily turned to Hotch with a sigh. "I'll do this, okay?"<p>

"If you're sure," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and settling back in his seat.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, slipping out into the cool spring air. She pushed open the door and basked in the warm air that enveloped her. She turned toward the rack covered with chips when she froze at the sight of a familiar figure.

"Emily." His voice was ragged as he forced the unfamiliar name past his lips.

"Mick," she returned coolly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me either," he said with a sigh, carding his fingers through his curly dark hair. "Look, I'm sorry about everything I said. I didn't mean it."

"I know." Emily's eyes flickered to the toes of her hiking boots briefly. "I understand. I'm leaving, though. I'm going home."

"I'll miss you, Emily," he said quietly.

"Me too," she said, extending her arms for a hug. "It's too bad I never accepted your proposals."

"Well, maybe if you come back," he said slowly, releasing her and stepping back to look at her.

"Maybe," she replied with a small smile, turning away as he made his way out of the store. The silence stretched out between them, and both knew she was never coming back.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you still want to do this?" asked Hotch as he stepped out of the car on the lower deck of the ferry. "Once we reach the mainland there's no turning back."<p>

"I know," she said softly, "but this is the right thing to do."

"If you're sure," he replied, putting his hand over hers on the railing.

"I am." Emily bit her lip as the engine rumbled to life beneath her feet, the vibrations travelling up through her entire body. The gangplank pulled up and the ship began to ease away from its moorings. She turned for a last look at the island as it shrank, wind whipping the strands of her hair. She stood like that for a long time, until the tiny island vanished, mist-shrouded cliffs blending into the grey sky before they disappeared completely.

Within a few minutes, the outline of the mainland had appeared, and Emily focused on it, not wanting to clutter the air with talk. Beside her, Hotch reached into a pocket of his Patagonia fleece sweater and pulled out a small camera case. He took a few photos of he cliffs of the mainland, and put the camera back in its case before the ferry pulled into the docks at Burrafirth and the two got back on road, taking the highway towards Lerwick.

As the sign for the Tingwall Airport glided past, he turned to her with a small smile. "I guess we'll have plenty of time to kill before getting on the ferry. What do you want to do?" he asked, guiding the car carefully along the cracked road.

"Have you ever been to Scalloway Castle?" she replied, pulling sunglasses out of the bag at her feet with some difficulty, and perching them on top of her head.

"Can't say I have, but then castles aren't really my thing," he admitted, hands on the wheel.

"Well, maybe I can change that," she said teasingly. "This one was owned by the Earl of Orkney and Shetland around 1600 AD. He apparently wasn't very nice, and so it's been said that his tenant's hair and blood were used in the mortar. Anyway, he was eventually imprisoned and executed in 1615."

"How very Reid of you," Hotch commented, giving her a quick sideways look.

"Thank you, I try," she said, pointing to the empty road ahead with a slender hand. "Turn here."

Five minutes down an even rougher road, Emily looked up again and over at Hotch. "You know what we could do? We could go to Scatness and Mousa first and then check out the castle on the way back."

"What's Scatness?" he asked, looking out the window at the barren landscape.

"It's an Iron Age village and broch. It's pretty interesting, not to mention beautiful," she said, pulling the arms of her sweater around her knees.

"Sounds good to me," he replied, still focused on the road ribboning endlessly in front of him.

* * *

><p>"Emily, wake up. We're here," Hotch said gently, parking the car. He reached over and pushed her shoulder to rouse her, waiting until her eyes flickered open.<p>

"Huh?"

"We're here," he repeated, and she propped herself up on one hand and looked around to find herself in the parking lot of the Lerwick Ferry Terminal, still bathed in golden late-afternoon light.

"I guess we are," she replied, checking the time on the dashboard before he switched off the ignition and put the keys in his pocket. "I guess I fell asleep on the way back from Scalloway. I'm just going to take Scruffy for a walk." She got up and stretched in the warm sunlight.

"I'm going to go check us in. Can you meet me in there after you finish with Scruffy?" he asked, unclipping his seatbelt and stretching as he stood up.

"For sure," she replied, digging Scruffy's leash out of her bag in the backseat. She slowly opened the door to his carrier and clipped it to his collar. "Come on boy, last chance to pee until Aberdeen," she said gently, easing him onto the pavement and taking him on a quick jaunt around the parking lot.

When she returned, she quickly lifted the squirming animal into his kennel and shut the door with an apologetic smile and soft words. Locking the car doors, she hurried into the terminal, which was hardly bustling despite the fact that it was six in the evening. She had no problems finding Hotch, and joined him in the line for the MV Hjaltland. After showing their IDs, they headed back to the car and drove onto the ferry's lower deck.

* * *

><p>"I guess it's about suppertime. Are you hungry?" asked Hotch a few hours later as he opened the door to their cabin. It was just after 8:00 pm and the ferry had long since left land behind. All around them was open water, ruffled slightly by the brisk sea wind.<p>

She looked up from the desk and put down her pen. "I hadn't really thought about it, but yeah, I guess I am."

"What are you doing?" he asked, advancing from the doorway and casting a casual glance at the sheaf of papers in front of her. She quickly swept them into a fancy leather folder and closed it.

"Just writing letters to Morgan and Spencer. I'm not sure if they'll be talking to me when I get back, so I want to make sure they'll know how sorry I am for everything," she replied honestly, biting her lip and turning anguished eyes to him. "I also have some letters I wrote but never sent."

"Wow, Em. I had no idea," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, well, I had some stuff I had to get out of my system," she responded with a grin. "I guess I'm pretty hungry. I could go for some food right now. Want to go to the food court and get supper?"

"Sounds good," he said, taking off his heavy woolen sweater and folding it on the bed.

She stood up, putting the folder and pen away, and followed him through the corridors to the food court, which was surprising empty. Together, they found a place serving wraps and salads, ordered, and sat down at the table farthest away from anybody else.

Hotch took a tentative sip of his water before looking directly at Emily, locking his gaze with hers. "So, have you thought about Declan?" he asked, chewing slowly.

She bit her lip again and put her wrap back down on her plate. "I thought I might adopt him," she replied, pausing for a few seconds to let this sink in.

"Are you serious? A kid? Em, that's a serious decision," he replied, eyes widening in shock. "But what if he finds out you were, um, responsible for his father's death?"

"I'm aware of the consequences, Aaron, but he knows me. I think he can handle it. Right now, he just needs someone who can love and nurture him," she shot back, a steely glint in her eyes. "After everything he's been through, I owe him that, at least."

"I've never considered you the maternal type, Emily Prentiss," Hotch said, with a touch of humour flitting across his face.

"I'm not, really, but I feel like I need to do something for Declan. He needs a solid maternal presence and I can do that. I miss him, you know," she said quietly, a small smile flitting across her face for a split second. She bent her head and bit into her wrap again, just for something to do. Suddenly, her appetite was gone and she was having a hard time even looking at the food in front of her. She put the tortilla down slowly and reached for her bottle of water, taking a large swig.

"I understand that, but are you ready for this right now? I mean, this is a big step, especially since Declan's a teenager now," Hotch replied, staring at her intently over the top of his wrap, which was beginning to ooze Caesar dressing because he was squeezing it so tightly.

Emily rubbed a hand across her face. "If I'm not ready now, I'm never going to be," she said, trying to stay calm. "Can you please just be supportive? I promise I won't do anything without his okay, and I won't take him until I find a place of my own."

"Emily, it's not that I don't support you, it's just that I'm not sure this is realistic. With all due respect, you pushed his father off a cliff. Once he finds out, if he doesn't already know, he's not exactly going to be happy. I'm not saying abandon him, but is adopting him the solution?" asked Hotch seriously, leaning forward slightly on his forearms.

"It was self-defense! He shot me, and tried to kill me - twice. I'm sure Declan can understand that," she protested hotly, pushing her tray aside and ignoring the looks of other passengers as she stood up. "I'm a big girl, Aaron, I can handle myself! I know what I'm doing. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go mull this over." She grabbed her tray off the table with a low grating sound and marched over to throw out the rest of her food, saving her bottle of water for later. She stormed up to their cabin furiously, and took her jacket off the hook behind the door. Shrugging it on, she made her way as quickly as possible out to the deck to take in the salt spray and twilight.

She was just leaning on the railing, arms spread wide, when she heard the door creak open behind her. Ignoring it, she leaned forward, feeling the spray on her face. The bow dipped and it felt like she was flying, just for an instant. Warm pressure was on either side of her waist, supporting her.

"I'm flying," he whispered in his ear, not moving to swipe her dark hair out of his face, where it clung to his skin and danced dangerously close to his eyes.

"You've seen the Titanic?" she asked, turning her head.

"Only about fifteen times," he admitted with a trace of a grin, curling one hand around the rail. The cold metal stung his palm.

"How romantic of you," she smirked, before pouting and pointedly removing his hand from her waist and tucking it into his pocket. "But I'm still mad at you."

"I was just trying to be realistic," he insisted, moving away and standing next to her, but keeping his distance so she couldn't swat him, which he could tell she was about to by the way her right hand was hovering.

"How thoughtful of you," she snapped, "but I don't need your realism. I just want to do what's best for Declan, and keeping him away from the only positive female influence in his life isn't that."

"All right, if that's what you want. I just think that maybe there are other things you should consider. He's not a child anymore, Emily," Hotch said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"I know that, but I want to give him at least a moderately stable teenagerhood, or what's left of it, anyway," she said. "How about you leave this up to me? I promise, I can deal with this."

"You're too emotionally attached," he commented, zipping his jacket up all the way against the piercing sea wind.

"Of course I am," she retorted, annoyed. "Come on, Hotch! The kid's basically an orphan! How can you think that I shouldn't give him a chance at normalcy?"

"I applaud that, Emily, I really do, but statistically, the older the child is, the lower the chances of it working out," he replied, hoping she wouldn't blow up in his face.

"Thank you, Dr. Reid!" she snarked, turning away into the breeze and letting it whip her face. "I'm done discussing this with you. I've made up my mind already."

His shoes squeaked on the slippery deck and she bent her head toward the sea as she felt him leave. The door slammed behind him and she exhaled heavily, cheeks flushing with heat as she realized that she wouldn't be able to hide tonight. Fighting her first reaction, which was to cry, she took a seat on one of the benches and watched as the sun's disk slipped lower and lower on the horizon, eventually disappearing into the steely sea.

When she crept quietly back to their berth just after eleven at night, she was surprised to find his lights on. He was already in bed, reading a book. He turned is head slightly at her entrance.

"Hi."

"Hey."

She busied herself trying to find her pajamas in her bag, and draped her heavy sweater over the back of her chair. Disappearing into the bathroom to change, she emerged wearing a simple blue t-shirt and matching plaid pants.

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Hotch said softly as she slipped under the covers of her berth and turned out the lights.

"Yeah, me too," she replied. "I'm sorry I blew up at you. I know you were just trying to help."

"Well, I should have known better than to change your mind," he said, putting his book on top of his suitcase.

"Apology accepted," she said, with a smile. "It's been a great day aside from that. Thanks for everything."

"Anything for you," he replied, plumping his pillow and settling down. "I think I like castles much better now."


	13. The Homecoming

**A/N:** This chapter was so much fun to write, and I hope you like it! I hate to sound like a review whore, but I'm not getting very many and it's a little discouraging. So please, if you like this story, drop me a review and let me know! I promise I'll respond, and it really makes me smile. I'd really like to get five for this chapter, if it's not asking too much.

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><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

Hotch's phone alarm went off at 6:15, waking the two up almost instantly. The ferry was swaying comfortably underneath them, and the tiny cabin was dimly lit by the morning sun through the curtains.

Emily flung an arm over her face as she rolled over, groaning. She sat up reluctantly, smoothing her hair out of her face. "What time is it?" she slurred, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep-residue from her eyes.

"6:15. Ferry docks in 45 minutes," Hotch replied, already out of his bed and rummaging in his suitcase for clothes. He pulled a neatly folded white dress shirt and grey slacks out, with a blue tie, and unzipped the garment bag hanging in the closet.

"Time to get moving, then," she said cheerfully, swinging her legs over the side of her bunk and rubbing her eyes. She padded softly over to her clothes that she'd laid out the night before and retrieved them. Turning away from him for some modicum of privacy, she took off her shirt and slipped on a baby blue bra, hooking it behind her back. Ignoring his dropped jaw, she slid a soft blue tie-neck silk blouse over her unbrushed hair. She buttoned her black slim-leg dress pants as she sat on the bed. Zipping up her black ankle boots, she put on her blazer and made her way over to her mirror to brush her hair. She tied it back into a ponytail and began to apply foundation and concealer with her fingers, smoothing on a bit of powder over to set it, and beginning to line her eyes with charcoal liner. By the time Hotch emerged from the bathroom, she was putting the finishing touches on her mascara and settling down to straighten her hair.

"What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the flat iron with suspicion.

"My hair," she replied, sectioning her hair with a butterfly clip and checking the heat.

"Looks complicated," he commented, buttoning his slacks. He took off his pajama top and began to button his crisp white dress shirt. He appeared behind her in the mirror, flipping the collar of his shirt and looping his tie around his neck, tying it in a tight knot and readjusting his collar. "How long is this hair going to take you?"

"Don't worry, I'll be done in fifteen minutes," she assured him with a chuckle, running the flat iron through her lower layers.

"Well, in that case, I'll go get us some coffee," he said, shrugging on his suit jacket and disappearing through the door.

He returned ten minutes later, just as she was finishing the top layers of her hair. He was carrying two coffees and two muffins. "We'll get an actual breakfast in Aberdeen," he said, handing one coffee and a blueberry muffin to her.

"Oh God, I love you," she blurted, putting down her straightener and taking a sip of her coffee. "I'm so hungry."

"One of the crew members told me there's a little place that does breakfast on King Street. We can go there once we get off," he said, allowing himself a smile at her comment.

"Sounds good," she replied switching off her straightener and smoothing her newly-sleek hair. "How long till we dock?"

"Fifteen minutes," he said, zipping up his suitcase and pulling it to the door. "If you're done here, we can take our stuff to the car and get Scruffy."

"Yeah." With one last look around the tiny cabin, Emily stood up and tucked her straightener in her bag. She followed Hotch out into the hallway. They wheeled their suitcases down to the lower deck, where the cars were kept. He unlocked the trunk, and they crammed their bulging suitcases in.

"I'll get Scruffy," Emily said, as Hotch slid into the driver's seat, drinking his coffee. She headed toward the kennel to reclaim her dog.

As soon as she pushed the door open, he whined and scratched at the metal bars of his carrier. She half-ran over to his kennel, sticking her fingers through the slats for him to lick. Lifting him down, she swayed over to the desk, a little unbalanced by the way he was shifting in the carrier. She initialed the sheet, and took him back to the car, buckling his carrier into the backseat.

"Hey Scruffy," Hotch said warmly, twisting around to let the dog lick his fingers. "Man, Jack's going to love him."

"I hope so," Emily said with a grin, as a metallic grating and bumping indicated that the ferry had docked. "We're here!"

The gates opened and the cars in front of them started their engines and they drove out of the lower deck and into the bright late April sunlight.

* * *

><p>Aberdeen Airport was bustling. Dodging people carrying children and suitcases, Emily breathed in the stale smell of pressurized air and bad coffee. She crinkled her nose in distaste; there were some parts of civilization she hadn't missed.<p>

"Let's go," Hotch said calmly, tugging her through clumps of people toward the check-in desk.

After ten minutes of waiting in line, they were finally checked in for their flight to London. Emily waited on a cushy bench with Scruffy whining miserably next to her while Hotch returned the rental car. She looked up at his footsteps, smiling faintly. "Where to next?"

"Our terminal." He pulled his ticket and boarding pass from his pocket. "That's terminal five. Um, it's that way." He pointed to the sign that declared '1-5' and headed for it, weighted down by his luggage.

Loading their baggage onto the conveyor belt, Emily and Hotch proceeded toward security. Hotch had pulled out his badge, and was twirling it nervously in between his fingers. He hadn't to fly commercially in years, and he was a little worried about how Emily would get through security, seeing as she wore a holstered Glock at her waist.

She handed over her gun and stepped through the metal detector, where a burly security guard scanned her with a wand.

"I'm going to need identification," he said, crossing his arms.

Ignoring the glares of the other security guard and the people behind her, Emily dug into her pocket and handed him her passport.

"Do you have any other identification?" he asked, giving her a look that would have intimidated most other people.

Unfazed, she stared him down. "Look, I was under witness protection for five years. I'm going back to the US as Emily Prentiss," she said coolly. "I'm a former FBI agent. I still have my badge." She pulled it from her breast pocket and handed it to him, slapping it into his palm.

"All right. I guess you're good to go, then," he said, giving her back her badge. "Have a safe flight."

Hotch gave them his gun and badge as he stepped through the metal detector and was waved down with wand. Upon being given the okay, he reclaimed his luggage and they proceeded toward the entrance to the plane.

"Bye, baby," Emily cooed to Scruffy, handing him a few treats from her pocket, as a stewardess picked up his kennel and took him down to the load. "Don't miss me too much, okay?"

He barked once, giving her a reproachful look, and then settled down, resting his head on his paws.

Feeling a guilty pang, Emily vowed not to put him through this much travel for the next, oh, five years. She turned away and loaded the rest of her luggage before checking in again and boarding the jet liner.

"Can I have the window?" asked Hotch, as they walked down the aisle.

"Why do you get the window?" she replied, hoisting her bag a little higher on her shoulder.

"Because," he said archly, "I'm older."

"Fine," Emily acquiesced, settling next to him in the aisle seat. "I get the window from London to D.C., though."

"Deal," he said, and they shook on it.

She was just flipping through her paperwork when the lights came on and the PA system crackled to life.

"Welcome to flight 301 from Aberdeen to London Heathrow. I'm your Captain, and it's looking like a good flight. The weather is calm and we'll be cruising at 30,000 feet. We should arrive on time at 2:00 pm. Have a good flight!"

Emily ignored the instructional video on what to do in an emergency in favour of her paperwork. A few minutes later, the engine rumbled to life beneath her, and her stomach fluttered with butterflies. The plane began to taxi down the runway, and she leaned over Hotch to look out the window for one last look at Scotland as the landing gear clicked up with a screech, and the fields and buildings fell away into a beautiful patchwork. "Goodbye," she whispered under her breath.

* * *

><p>"So we have some time to kill," said Hotch casually as they strode out of the gates into terminal, laden down with luggage. Emily was toting Scruffy along with her suitcase and carry-on bag. It was just after two in the afternoon and their flight from London to D.C. didn't leave till ten.<p>

"You need to call JJ," Emily prompted, groaning as she tried to push open a pair of glass doors, "and tell her we made it to London safely. Oh God, we're taking the escalator next time." She balanced the carrier on top of her suitcase and buckled it into place.

"I agree with that one," he replied, staggering under the weight of his own luggage and her second bag.

They emerged into weak sunlight a few minutes later, and sank gratefully onto a waiting bench. Hotch found his Blackberry and dialed JJ. He pressed the phone to his ear as it rang.

"Hey, I was wondering when I'd hear from you," she said cheerfully. "Where in the world are Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss?"

"We're in London," Emily chimed in. "Just landed."

"When does your flight get into Dulles?" asked JJ.

"Around two AM your time," Hotch said, shifting his bags and holding out one hand to pet the Collie through the bars of his cage.

"That's late." JJ dragged her teeth across her lower lip. "Look, I'll try to get there to meet you guys, but I can't promise anything."

"I understand completely," Hotch replied. "It's a long drive, especially at night."

"Yeah, we're leaving for Ohio in the morning," JJ said. "I'll do my best to get some people there, though."

"We can't wait to see you!" Emily put in excitedly, leaning over Hotch's shoulder.

"Me either! We've all missed you so much!" JJ said, promising herself she wouldn't get emotional. "We're so excited to see you."

"Us too," Hotch said. "Look, I've got to go, but we're going to hang around London for a few hours until our flight, so call me if you have any questions."

"Sure thing, Hotch. See you soon!" JJ hung up with a click, and put her cell back down on her desk.

* * *

><p>Emily smoothed her hands nervously through her hair as she stepped onto the plane. Confronted with a long line of empty seats, she froze for a second, feet rooted to the carpet.<p>

"Are you okay with this?" asked Hotch, stopping behind her.

"I'm a profiler, not a shepherd," Emily replied over her shoulder. "I'm ready."

Hotch reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. She tightened her grip on his hand and they walked through the partition.

As they found their seats, Emily ducked in front of Hotch and slid into the window seat. She put her carry-on bag on the floor by her feet, and turned her head to grin at him. "We had a deal."

"I'm not denying that," he said, with a small chuckle. "I'll let you have the window seat – just this once."

"Aren't you a gentleman," Emily laughed, taking off her blazer and draping it over the seat, exposing her milky arms, flawless except for the small bandage over the bullet hole.

Hotch swallowed at the sight of the gauze and turned away, settling himself into the seat where he'd be for the next eight hours.

Next to him, Emily shifted restlessly, looking out the window at the dark runway, punctuated by brilliant lights like small, earthbound stars. Her heart leaped in her chest and excitement made her stomach flutter and her fingers tingle. It was a delicious feeling, to be on her way home at last. She rested her head against the cool glass as the engine came to life and the plane taxied down the strip of pavement. It lifted into the velvety navy-blue sky and she turned back and wrapped her arms around Hotch, catching him off guard as she nestled her head against his shoulder in lieu of a pillow. He stroked her hair, inclining his head to meet hers.

They stayed like that for a while, even though Emily was far too nervous and excited to sleep. It was just after 1:00 in the morning when she finally dozed off on his shoulder after watching a few lame movies while sharing headphones.

She awoke somewhere over the Atlantic to a dark, peaceful plane. She looked out her window for some indication of where they were, but the darkness was inky and opaque. Sighing, Emily settled down into the blanket that had somehow been draped over her, and snuggled a little closer to Hotch, breathing in his clean, soapy smell, and the musky notes of his cologne embedded into the fabric of his suit. Smiling sleepily, she let herself drift off again, lulled by the drone of the engines and an inexplicable warm feeling of safety.

* * *

><p>Emily yawned and stretched, back aching from three hours spent curled against the dark-haired man next to her. She gently removed his hands from her waist and shoulder, and woke him by dropping a quick kiss on his lips. "Wake up, we're about to land!" she whispered in his ear, feeling like a child on Christmas morning. Adrenaline hummed through her veins and buzzed under her skin. She shuffled her feet, wishing the plane would hurry up and land at Dulles already. She'd been waiting for this moment for five years.<p>

"Huh? Morning, Em," he said slowly, a smile stretching languidly over his face at the way her lips brushed his.

"We're almost here!" She began folding her blankets and reached back to shrug on her blazer, shivering as the cool silk caressed her bare arms.

"I gathered." He struggled to pull himself back to consciousness, blinking burning eyes rapidly. It didn't take long for the adrenaline to kick in, and he was already gathering his bags to disembark as the plane touched down with a bump, with Emily staring out the window so intently he wondered if she'd burn a hole through the glass.

"We're here!" It was as close to a squeal as she had ever gotten. The cabin lights flickered on and she unbuckled herself, fingers fumbling with the buckle in her haste.

She was tapping her foot impatiently as they waited to collect their luggage from the carousel. Once she'd gotten her bags she hurried to collect Scruffy from the hold, hugging his carrier tightly to her chest with one arm as Hotch took her other hands and they walked out together through the gate into the terminal. Emily's excitement hit a peak and exploded through the roof when they rounded the corner, tired but happy, and saw a host of familiar faces, dressed down in pajama pants, yoga pants, and jeans. There was one in particular that stuck out. Standing behind them, Ambassador Prentiss looked like she'd stepped straight out of an embassy meeting in her pressed navy wool suit and low-heeled Ferragamo pumps.

"Mom!" Emily dropped her suitcases – and Scruffy - with a thud as she ran across the tiles and threw herself into her mother's arms, feeling tears in her hair as her mother caught her in a rib-cracking hug.

"Daddy!" Jack rocketed across the floor and hurled himself into his father's wide-open arms.

"I missed you, buddy!" Hotch scooped up his twelve-year-old son in his arms and held him tightly.

When Emily and her mother drew apart, she straightened to look around at the group waiting for her. Rossi was holding a brightly coloured sign that screamed 'Welcome Back Emily & Hotch!' and might as well have had Garcia's name written all over it. Garcia stood next to him, smiling through her tears, and next to them were Will, JJ, and Henry, JJ's belly swollen with a second child, and Jessica. Noticeably absent were Morgan and Reid, dampening Emily's happiness significantly, but she couldn't blame them.

"I can't believe you let him come, Jess, it's a school night!" Hotch admonished, but his tone implied delight more than any anger whatsoever.

"How could I not?" The curly-haired blonde grinned and ruffled her nephew's hair lovingly, smiling at her brother. "I've missed you." She wrapped him in a warm hug, sandwiching Jack in between the two of them.

"I don't even know where to start. I've missed you all so much!" Emily's voice was husky, but her eyes were glowing like two bright stars in her pale face, cheeks flushed in two round spots.

"Emily, come here and let me look at you!" Garcia fairly pushed Rossi out of the way to get at her friend. She flung her arms around the taller woman and burying her face in her shoulder. "I can't believe you're alive. But look at you, you're so beautiful, and real," she said, before breaking down and muffling her sobs against Emily's blazer.

When she released her, Emily moved straight to JJ. "It's so good to see you," she said sincerely, smiling at the blonde, and taking care not to bump her belly as they hugged. "How far along are you?"

"Seven," JJ replied, resting her hands lightly on her full stomach. "It's a girl." She glowed, despite the tears running in bright rivulets down her cheeks.

"I'm going baby-stuff shopping ASAP with Garcia," Emily promised happily, before turning her attention to Will for a hug. "I've missed you too."

"I'm glad you're back," he said, patting her on the back. "You're going to have to come to supper soon and tell us about all your adventures. Do you need a place to stay?"

"I'm good, thanks. Hotch offered, and I said yes," she replied, bending down only slightly to address Henry. "Wow, you're so grown-up now! Do you remember me?"

"Aunty Emily!" He hugged her tightly, and she rubbed his back, closing her eyes against the tears, but they leaked out anyway, despite her best efforts. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Henry. It's so good to see you!"

"Emily." Rossi stepped out from behind the clump, dressed in a pair of jeans, a deep blue button-down shirt, and expensive loafers. The older agent wrapped her in a comfortingly cologne-scented hug, letting her bury her face in his shoulder and cry for a few seconds, until she composed herself enough to look up and wipe her smudged eyeliner and mascara.

"I'm so sorry about Morgan and Reid, Emily, I really am! I tried to get Morgan to come but he wouldn't. I'm really sorry," Garcia said, hugging Emily again.

"It's okay, Penelope, really it is. I don't blame them at all," she replied, one corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "I'll see them soon enough."

"You're not really going to Ohio later this morning, are you?" Hotch asked JJ, wrapping her in an embrace.

"No, that's tomorrow morning," she replied, blue eyes twinkling softly. "I couldn't ruin the surprise. There was no stopping Garcia from making that poster when she found out."

"Nothing would have ruined this," he said, as they parted. "How's the little guy doing?"

"Great," she said, rubbing her hands gently over her belly and grimacing slightly, leaning against Will for support. "And that was a kick."

"May I?" He kneeled and placed one hand against her stomach, feeling for the flutter of movement beneath his palms. His eyes widened, and he grinned. "Congrats again, JJ. I'd almost forgotten."

"I gather it's been an eventful month," she grinned slyly. "I was just telling Emily that you two have to come and tell us all about it."

"I can't refuse that offer," he said, looking over to Emily, who was engaging Jack in conversation.

"How would you like a dog?" she was asking, a huge smile on her face.

"Would I? Wow!" He hurried over to the kennel and peered curiously inside, despite Scruffy's best attempts to hide in the very back. "Hi, boy. I'm Jack."

"This is my Collie, Scruffy. I hear he's coming to live with you and Daddy for while," Emily said, holding out a treat for Jack to feed to the dog.

"You, too, right, Em'ly?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at her.

She burst out laughing, despite the tears running down her face. "Of course me too. Are you alright with that, Jack?" She took one of his hands and gazed at him seriously, trying to read his expression.

His face split into a delighted grin. "Awesome!" He turned his attention back to the dog, poking his fingers through the bars. "Can I walk him every day?"

"You sure can." Emily tousled his hair in much the same way Jessica had earlier, and he leaned comfortably against her. She was surprised by how right his solid warmth felt against her waist. It filled her heart almost to bursting with happiness. She would worry about Spencer and Morgan tomorrow. For now, she had the most important family she could wish for right here.

With a greater feeling of satisfaction that he'd felt in years, Hotch gathered up his suitcases and they all walked out into the cool night air. Emily was on one side, Jack was on the other, and Jessica was next to him. He was surrounded by friends and family, and it all felt so right. He'd never been one to wish on shooting stars, but this time his wish had come true.


	14. The Conflict

**A/N: **First of all, thank you so much for the amazing response to the last chapter! Sorry it took so long for me to update. I left for a music festival for a week and then once I got back I was super-busy with work. Anyways, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it! If you do, please leave me a review and let me know what you think. I know it's cliched, but it really does mean a lot.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>

The bullpen was surprisingly quiet the next morning, but with a sense of expectancy hanging in the air. JJ yawned into her coffee, and everyone who had been at the airport earlier in the morning looked tired but happier than they had in a long time. Years, maybe.

Hotch breezed in right on time, looking as if he'd never left. His suit was impeccable and he carried his briefcase as always. "Morning, JJ," he said, walking past her office. "I'm already briefed on the case, so can you call the team?"

"Sure thing," she said, with a smile, looking up from her notepad.

Five minutes later, everybody sat in the conference room. Reid was studying his hands intently, and Morgan fiddled with his pen, flicking it absently back and forth between his fingers. Garcia sat uneasily, crossing and uncrossing her legs, and she kept tossing glances at the door. JJ sat, trying to be calm, but the nervous clicking of her heels against the floor gave her away. Hotch paced the front of the room. Only Rossi sat still and stoic, an almost-smile on his face.

"As you all know by now, Emily is alive," Hotch began, looking anxiously through the glass door, "and she's back. We're still working on the paperwork to get her reinstated into the team. I'm not sure if she'll be coming to Ohio tomorrow, but she should be rejoining us all within the next few weeks. I expect you all to be mature about these recent developments –" He broke off as the door opened slowly, and she stepped cautiously into the room, dark eyes wide, as if she were approaching a ticking time bomb.

"Hi."

Her bag hit the floor with a thud, and she cast Hotch an appealing look, ignoring his open appraisal of her appearance. After all, she had spent some extra time getting ready this morning. She wore her long, dark hair in loose curls, ending just above the small of her back. She had on a classic Emily outfit: a rose-coloured turtleneck, black slim-fit slacks, and black boots.

"I'm done here." Reid pushed back his chair with a piercing screech and stormed past her, out of the room.

"Reid!" Emily cried out, quickly bending to grab a clean envelope from her bag and rushing into the hall after him. "Look, I understand if you don't want to talk to me. But, at least read this." She thrust the envelope into his hands, and he caught a glimpse of 'Spencer' written on the front in her neat hand, almost perfectly centered.

"Sorry," she said softly, re-entering the room. She took the seat next to Morgan, who stood up without so much as a look in her direction, and followed Reid's footsteps out of the room.

This time, she was ready. Envelope in hand, she pursued him relentlessly through the BAU. She bit her lip as he disappeared into the men's bathroom, no doubt thinking he was safe from her. Without a backward look, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door, praying they were alone. She cornered him in the last stall. "Derek, I know you must hate me, but please read this." She slid the envelope under the stall door, and clicked to the door, and then paused. She heard him rip the envelope open, and then a few seconds later, she heard a ragged sob.

Tears sprung to her eyes at the broken sound. Part of her wanted to run back and comfort him. Heart breaking, she turned and forced herself to walk out the door and back to the conference room, where the four remaining heads swiveled at her entrance.

"Are you done?" asked Hotch, eyeing her with concern.

Cheeks flaming, she nodded, resuming her position next to Morgan's empty chair.

He cleared his throat, and continued, "So, as I was saying, we're leaving for Iowa tomorrow. Wheels up is at 8:00 sharp. Please pass the word along. Emily, we can't take you because your re-instatement papers haven't been cleared yet, but this will give you a few days to get settled. That's everything for now."

* * *

><p>Emily sat in the guest bedroom, twirling the cordless phone aimlessly in her hands. She was trying to muster the courage to call Louise.<p>

The device in her hands beeped, and her head snapped up. Taking a deep breath, she slowly pressed the numbers in again. Hands shaking, she punched the talk button and held the phone to her ear. It rung once, twice, echoing in the silence. Each ring jarred her already frazzled nerves.

_Don't pick up, don't pick up._

"Hello?"

Emily closed her eyes against the sudden rush of tears.

"Hello?"

"Louise?" Her voice cracked, and she shook her head violently. _Get it together, Emily._

There was a pregnant pause, and then a sharp intake of breath that crackled loudly in her ear. "Emily, is that you?"

"It's me, Louise," she replied, as evenly as possible. "I guess we have a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

><p>Emily waited until exactly 8:05 before pulling out of the driveway. Humming absently, she guided the car out onto the interstate a few minutes later.<p>

She turned on the radio to a random Top 40 station, nodding her head along to the beat. It was a welcome distraction, but the driving guitars only served to intensify her nerves. She reached out and snapped the radio off, eyeing the signs on the side of the road. With a jolt, she realized that she only had half an hour left to figure out how she was going to talk to Declan.

The adoption papers glared up at her from the passenger seat, and she reached out to flip them over so she couldn't catch glimpses of the tiny print. Just seeing them lying there made her stomach turn over. Was this really right for Declan, or was she being selfish in believing that she was saving him?

Focus, Emily, she told herself as calmly as possible, you can do this.

She kept on repeating that over and over again, like a mantra, until she turned a corner and found herself staring at a campus that looked like it came right out of a glossy brochure from 'All-American Boarding Schools' or something like that. She didn't have to stretch her imagination very far to envision pastel polos and Ralph Lauren. After all, she'd been strictly private school educated, and had grown up in institutions like this. They didn't exactly bring back good memories.

Guiding the car up the front hill, Emily pulled into the parking lot outside the main buildings. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, pulling on one of her FBI-era blazers, and scanned the area.

He was sitting quietly on one of the benches outside the boys' dorms, hands folded in his lap. His blonde hair, once long and curly, was a few shades darker and cut short, and his skin was pale and free of any acne. When he looked up, their eyes met. Emily stood rooted to the ground, as an electric shock radiated through her entire body. He had his father's eyes.

She forced herself to take in a deep, shuddering breath, and walk towards him. "Hi, Declan," she said softly, unsure whether to hug him or hang back.

"Miss Emily," he replied, only the slightest trace of a lilting accent left. He extended his hand, and she shook it firmly. "I take it you're here about my father."

"How did you know?" Emily asked, eyes widening.

"My dad was involved in illegal, dangerous things. I barely knew him, but I've been expecting to hear that he was shot, or stabbed, or blown up for years," Declan said gravely, meeting her gaze squarely.

Emily closed her eyes for a few seconds to gather her thoughts. She'd always hated breaking the news to a family that one of their loved ones was dead, but this was a million times harder than any of the other times she'd had to tell anybody that somebody close to them was dead. The fact that she was at least partially responsible didn't make this any easier. The truth would eventually come out. "I'm really sorry to tell you this, Declan, but your father is dead," she replied bitterly, trying to keep the tears in.

"How?" he asked, blue eyes steely.

"It's a long story," Emily started, but Declan cut her off.

"I have time."

"Five years ago, your father broke out of prison. He wanted to find you, and he knew I knew where you were. He came after me, and almost killed me. I was put into witness protection and sent to the Shetlands with a new identity. He was eventually caught and sent back to jail, but released earlier this year. He was dying, Declan. He had an inoperable brain tumour, and he only had a month left, at most. He wanted to find you and make amends, but I suspect he would have made you promise to take over the gang after he left," Emily explained, running her fingers through her straight dark hair.

"And?" Declan pressed, leaning forward and staring up at her with his father's eyes.

"He tracked me down in the Shetlands, and tried to make me tell him where you were. I refused, and he shot me. We scuffled, and I got the upper hand and got him off me. The earth cracked and he fell over the edge of the cliff. I tried to pull him up but our hands slipped," she continued, drawing breath with difficulty. "I'm so sorry, Declan." A lone tear overflowed her dark eyes and streaked down her cheek. Dragging bone-white teeth over her red lower lip, she wiped it away.

"Me too. He never was much of a father, but I wish I'd known him more," he said, twisting the hem of his blazer in his sweating fingers.

"He had his good points. He loved you very much," Emily replied, reaching out and pulling the blond into her arms for a hug. "That's all you need to know." Her hands found his back, and stroked soft circles through the thick material of his blazer.

When they broke apart, Declan scrubbed his hands across his eyes and faced her resolutely. "I'm glad you told me. Does Louise know?"

"I called her last night," Emily said. "I only just got back early this morning."

"There's some other reason you're here, isn't there?" he asked, scanning her face intently. He reached up to push his hair out of his face and smiled nervously.

Emily matched his with a tentative smile. "I don't know how to put this, so I'm just going to say it, okay? I'd like to adopt you. You don't have to say yes. If not, you can stay with Louise until you turn 18. We'll do everything to make sure that you don't go into foster care," she said quietly.

"Um, I'd like some time to think about it. Can you give me a few days?" asked Declan, eyes pleading.

"Of course," she replied, checking her watch. "Please give me a call when you decide, all right?"

"I will. Look, I should get back to class, but it's good to see you again, Miss Emily," Declan said, standing up.

"You too," Emily trailed off, as he shrugged on his backpack and headed off in the direction of the academic buildings. At the door, he turned, and gave Emily a small smile and a wave, before disappearing into the building.

Feeling considerably lighter, she walked back to the car and got in, heading for home. As she pulled onto the interstate again, she began to mull the events of the past 45 minutes over. Declan had taken it so calmly. He was a polite boy, and Louise had done a good job of raising him. However, he was old beyond his years, which broke Emily's heart. He'd never had a childhood, and she just wanted to give him back the remainder of his teenagerhood. It was the very least she could do.


	15. The Resolution

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It's always appreciated. I'm sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but I promise the next one will be longer/more action-packed! As always, if you enjoyed it, please drop me a review.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen<strong>

"Emily, are you here? I'm home," called Hotch, locking the door behind himself and putting down his briefcase.

"Right here," she called back, glancing up from her laptop screen. "How was your case?"

"We caught the guy," he said, sounding surprisingly cheerful, especially by Hotch standards. "Rescued his next would-be victim, too."

"That's great," Emily replied, looking up with a vague smile. She checked the clock on her dashboard, and frowned slightly. "You're home early."

"I guess I am." His eyes flickered to the face of his watch. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Aaron," she said in a warning tone, "I just had a nice reunion brunch with my mother. Don't ruin it."

He took a seat in the armchair next to her, and shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. "I wasn't planning on ruining anything. I checked the mileage on the car. Did you go to Virginia to visit Declan? I just wanted to know how that went."

"He said he'd consider it, and let me know within the next few days," Emily replied, with a sigh. "That's really about it."

"Did you tell him everything?" asked Hotch, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Everything," she said, heavily. "He took it really well. Surprisingly well, actually. He's a tough kid."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from Ian Doyle's son," said Hotch, with a trace of a smile.

"Yeah, me either," Emily said, eyes clouding over for a few seconds. She closed her laptop and set it gently on the coffee table.

"So, your reinstatement papers cleared this morning," Hotch said, breaking the silence before it could get awkward. "We're expecting you in the bullpen at 7:00 tomorrow morning."

"I'm looking forward to it," replied Emily, with a grin.

* * *

><p>Declan gripped the phone tightly in his hands. His palms and fingers were slick with sweat, and they slipped on the black plastic of the standard-issue phone. He dialed the number, and waited impatiently while it rang, tapping his foot against the freshly waxed tiled floor. "Miss Emily? I just wanted to tell you that I made my decision."<p>

Emily's eyes widened at the shaky voice coming through the receiver. She hadn't expected a decision this early; they had talked a little over 24 hours ago. "Sure, Declan. What is it?"

He bit his lip, leaning back against his bed. The metal ridge keeping the mattress in place dug into his thighs. His heartbeat raced, and nervous excitement thrummed in his stomach. "I'd like you to adopt me, Miss Emily. I'll sign the papers as soon as possible."

"Really, Declan? I'm so happy!" she exclaimed, eyes pricking with tears of joy.

"Can I finish the school year here?" he asked, timidly. "It's just that I have so many friends here and I don't want to be uprooted again. Also, can I still see Louise sometimes?"

"Of course! As a matter of fact, I'd love for you to still have her in your life," Emily replied. "I'll bring the adoption papers up as soon as possible, and you can come stay with me for the summer, and we can figure out then what you'll do for school in the fall."

"That sounds great," he said, sounding happier than she'd ever heard him. "I can't wait! Oh, and Miss Emily? Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Declan. Thank _you_."

* * *

><p>Emily walked into the BAU the next morning at five to seven with a new spring in her step. She felt confident and lighter than air since Declan's phone call from last night.<p>

"You're back!" Garcia cried, hurrying out of her lair and shuffle-running towards her friend at top speed in her purple stilettos. She drew the brunette into a bone-cracking bear hug, enveloping her in sweet, flowery perfume. "It's so good to see you again!"

"Take it easy, Penn, it's only been four days," Emily said, extricating herself from the blonde's grasp, "although I must admit, it's good to see you, too." She looked up, and over her shoulder, noticing Reid lingering behind them, holding an envelope in his long fingers, and looking like a kicked puppy. "Can you hold on a second?"

"Anything for you, sweetie," Garcia called, already on the move towards Morgan's desk. "We'll get coffee!"

"Hey, Spencer," Emily said hesitantly, surveying the tall genius. "What's going on?"

"I understand if you're mad at me, but I just wanted to give you this." He thrust the envelope into her hands, and began to turn away. "I read your letter."

She caught his shoulder, and firmly spun him around to face her, both hands gripping his shoulders. "I'm not mad at you, Spencer, so can we stop communicating by letters and talk face to face? We have a lot of catching up to do."

"Yeah, I guess we do," he admitted slowly, systematically scuffing the toe of his well-worn loafers against the carpet. His fingers found the hem of his shapeless sweater-vest, and he carelessly twisted the ugly brown acrylic between the pads of his thumb and index finger. "Do you want to get lunch or something, and talk things over?"

"I thought you would never ask," Emily replied, keeping her tone light. "I hear Chinese is good for healing bad feelings."

"I hope so," Reid said, offering her a tentative smile. "And maybe then you can tell me all about how things are going with Declan. I'd like that."

"Me too," Emily said, returning his smile. "I hope we can get on the way to becoming friends again. I missed you, boy genius."

"I missed you too, Emily," he said. He put down his messenger bag and held out his arms. "Friends?"

"I'm all for it."

* * *

><p>Between paperwork, coffee with Garcia, and a make-up lunch with Reid, Emily had barely had time to think until she fell into her bed in Hotch's spare room at about 10:00 pm at night.<p>

It was only natural that she was a little surprised when Hotch asked her if she could pick up Jack from school after her third day back. In Emily's world, picking Jack up from school meant taking him out to her favourite local diner for a milkshake and a chat.

"I'm really glad you're back, Emily," he said around the straw stuck in his strawberry milkshake. "My dad missed you too. He told me he's really happy you're alive."

The dark-haired woman grinned at the 12-year-old over the rim of her tall, frosted glass, and reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately. "I'm happy I'm alive and back, too. I missed you all, including you."

"So Dad told me you're going to be living with us for a while," Jack began, taking a hungry slurp of his thick milkshake. "Can you teach Dad how to cook stuff besides spaghetti, mac and cheese, and roast chicken?"

"Of course. I make a mean Caesar salad," Emily replied, with a laugh. She took a more delicate sip of her milkshake. "And I've heard good things about my chocolate chip cookies."

"My mom used to make chocolate chip cookies," Jack said wistfully, eyes glazing over slightly. "Garcia usually saves me a few when she makes them but she doesn't have a lot of time to bake. She told me not to tell, but she said she's going to make something epic for you." His eyes twinkled again, and Emily chuckled. Garcia's cooking skills were usually rather hit-and-miss, but her baked goods were out of this world. She was already salivating in anticipation.

"How long are you going to be staying with us, anyway?" asked Jack, taking another loud slurp of his shake. "I like having you around."

"I like being around," Emily replied, trailing off as she briefly considered whether or not to tell Jack that her investigations on a house. "And you're Scruffy's new best friend. But I've been looking at a farmhouse just outside Stafford. Declan and I are going to need a bit more room, and I don't want to impose on you and your Dad anymore, especially once Declan moves in with me at the end of the month."

"You're not imposing. Dad says so, and I agree. I like having a dog, and I've always wanted a brother," Jack said matter-of-factly. He finished off his milkshake with a triumphantly loud slu-u-urp and a satisfied grin.

"Declan's had a rough time, and although he'll definitely like you, I think we're going to need some time together at the beginning," Emily explained, surveying the boy across from her, and trying to keep her tone light. She drained the last of her thick chocolate shake and pushed it away from her, leaning forward on her elbows. "Is there anything else?"

"Thanks for the milkshake, Emily. It was delicious," Jack said, throwing her in an impish grin.

"Are we good to go?" she asked, signaling the waitress to bring the bill. "I think we'd better get home before your father wonders if we've disappeared."

"Sounds good to me. Can you help me with my algebra homework?" asked Jack, gathering his hoodie from where it was squashed between him and the wall. He draped it over his arm as Emily paid the bill and the two left the diner together.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing?" asked Hotch, leaning against the doorframe in the living room. His eyes were immediately drawn to the tall brunette sitting on the couch, leaning into the glowing sheet of the laptop screen, studying it intently. The room was starting to darken in the dusk, and he reached out and nonchalantly flipped the lightswitch, filling the room with a warm golden light.<p>

"Nothing," she murmured in reply, scrolling down as he walked towards her. She quickly slid four fingertips up the trackpad, but not fast enough. Hotch reached out and placed his hand gently over hers, pulling the webpage back onto the screen.

"You're looking for a house."

Emily was pretty sure she heard disappointment in his voice. She looked up in time to catch just a flicker of dejection in his eyes. "Declan moves in with me in three weeks, Aaron. I don't think this house is going to be big enough for the us, two boys, and a dog. Besides, I found a great little farmhouse. It's cheap and it'll need a few repairs, but I think we can make it work."

Hotch realized that everything she was saying made sense. While his house was nice, there just wasn't enough room for everyone to co-exist comfortably. Emily was currently occupying the guest bedroom, and Jack's room was fairly small. Besides, it wasn't fair on either of them if Declan moved in. He emitted a small sigh of defeat. "Of course. Declan will probably need some time on his own to get to know you, anyway. I'd be happy to help you get settled in your new place, if you need anything."

"You're a sweet man, Aaron Hotchner." With that, Emily closed her laptop and stood up, running her fingertips gently over his cheek.

She disappeared into the guest bedroom, leaving him standing stock still in the center of the living room. He slowly reached up and touched his cheek, smiling.


	16. Emily Charlotte

**A/N: **This chapter was so much fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. As always, if you liked it/have comments/questions/criticisms, please let me know. Also, please leave me a review, because they mean so much and are super encouraging! Thanks for all the reviews/faves/alerts on the last chapter, too.

**Chapter 16**

Emily fiddled with her pen, torn between her overwhelming desire to pass out for the next three and a half hours after a job well done, and the need to go over final details for the meeting with Declan, Louise, and the adoption papers, for tomorrow. She sighed, eyes sliding closed against her will. It was early in the morning, just after eight, and nobody had slept much over the last week. She gave up on trying to keep awake, and let her body get what it desperately craved.

When she awoke fifteen minutes later, it was because Hotch was poking a pillow at her. She forced her eyes open, and gave him a sleepy smile, accepting the pillow and tucking it beneath her dark hair. "Thanks, Hotch," she murmured, her voice raspy from sleep. She curled onto her side, settling herself with the pillow, and noticed that pretty much everyone was asleep. Reid and Morgan were asleep in the seats in the back of the plane, Rossi was asleep in one of the more plush chairs, laptop on a nearby coffee table, and even Hotch was settling down for a nap.

JJ, however, seemed restless. She couldn't seem to stay still, kept on changing position. Emily watched her wince faintly, and rub her full belly through her sapphire maternity blouse.

"JJ, you okay?" she asked in a whisper, taking her phone out of her pocket and putting it gently on the nearest flat surface.

"I'm fine, Emily, just cramps," the blonde replied, managing a thin smile.

"If you're sure," Emily replied, letting her eyes drift shut and succumbing to sleep once more.

She was pulled out of sleep half an hour later, when JJ stirred, getting up to get a glass of water from the plane's mini-fridge. Halfway there, she paused, one hand on her stomach. She put out one hand to steady herself, palm flat against the coffee table with Rossi's laptop on it.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Emily asked sleepily, narrowing her eyes in order to fix her gaze on her friend. "Your cramps must be pretty painful."

"Probably just Braxton-Hicks contractions," JJ said, moving one hand to her back and rubbing it slowly. "I'm not due for six weeks." She poured herself a glass of water and straightened up, taking a long sip. One hand continued rubbing small circles on her back.

"Contractions?" Emily jolted upright, eyes flying open. "JJ. You, me, bathroom, now."

"Em, calm down. I'm sure these are Braxton-Hicks contractions; they've been coming and going for the last week or so," JJ said calmly, but she followed the dark-haired woman to the airplane's tiny bathroom anyway, because she knew it was easier than protesting. Once there, she dropped onto the closed toilet seat and stared at Emily, waiting.

"JJ, exactly how long has this been going on?" asked Emily, leaning back against the counter and folding her arms over her chest.

"I don't know, a few hours. I'm six weeks early, Em. Don't worry about it, I'm sure it's just Braxton-Hicks. Same thing happened with Henry," JJ explained, running her fingers through her buttery blonde hair.

"Check your panties," Emily ordered. "I won't look, I promise."

"Excuse me?" JJ looked aghast. "You want me to do what?"

"If you're actually about to go into labour, Jayje, there may be blood in your discharge," Emily explained patiently. "Honestly, who's pregnant?"

"Fine, Emily. I'm doing this just to humour you," JJ said, sounding as though she were fighting a laugh. She untucked her blouse, pulled down her elastic-lined maternity pants, and slid down her panties. Sure enough, they were tinged red. Her laugh died on her lips and her expression sobered immediately. She quickly pulled up her pants and panties. "Oh."

"I told you, JJ!" Emily said excitedly, sounding triumphant. "You're in labour!" She moved over to JJ and hugged her gently, a giant grin on her face. "Can I go tell the team now?"

"No, I'd like to wait for a bit," replied JJ. "I'm going to go try and get comfortable. Can I borrow your phone to time things while you sleep?"

"Sleep? How can I sleep at a time like this?" Emily demanded, dark eyes sparkling.

"I probably have hours to go before active labour," JJ said serenely, reaching up to tie half her hair back into a ponytail, smoothing it in the mirror. "We'll be on the ground before then."

"I hope so, because I've never delivered a baby before," Emily said, looking a little apprehensive at the prospect. "We're not exactly equipped. And besides, we're flying over Wyoming right now. I don't think you want to give birth in a pasture."

"Preferably not," agreed JJ, opening the bathroom door and walking slowly back to her seat. She settled down on the sofa, and Emily handed her a blanket, and helped her get comfortable.

The brunette sat down on her couch, studying her intently, waiting for the next contraction.

"Calm down, Em. I'm not going to deliver the baby right now. Please just get some sleep, because you look like you need it," JJ said, sighing, and then her lips pursed as another contraction began, the muscles of her back and stomach clenching painfully.

Emily yawned, covering her open mouth with the palm of her hand. She adjusted the pillow beneath her head and stretched out, eyes still fixed on the blonde as she rode the wave. "If you're sure…" she trailed off, eyes already closing. "But seriously, wake me up if you need anything, anything at all."

"I will." The corners of JJ's lips curved up in a small smile, and she extended her legs, kicking off her shoes and trying to massage her swollen feet. She looked over towards Emily, who was already asleep, peacefully passed out on the couch.

An hour later, Emily felt herself being shaken awake. She rolled over, opening her eyes to see JJ's blue eyes looking curiously at her. "What's up?" she asked in a rough whisper.

"My contractions are five minutes apart. I'm going to head to be bathroom to see if anything's changed. Can you come?" said JJ, straightening up with some difficulty, in the grips of another contraction. One hand on her aching back, she hurried towards the bathroom, Emily hot on her heels.

Once inside, JJ checked her panties again – more blood. She leaned on the counter, breathing hard. Suddenly, her eyes flew open, and seconds later, there was a dripping sound, and then a gush of water spilled onto the floor.

"Did you just pee your pants?" asked Emily, turning around slowly.

JJ stood frozen in place, liquid running down her legs. "No. My water just broke. I'm in labour. How much longer do we have until we land?"

"Uh, just over an hour and half," Emily replied, checking her phone. She stepped over the puddle to hug her best friend again. Her eyes were drawn downward, and she commented, "Wow. Did all that come out of you?"

JJ let out a nervous laugh, looking down at mess. "I guess it did. Well, I better call Will and tell him to get his butt to the hospital."

"That's it? 'Well, I better call Will' after your water just broke over Illinois?" asked Emily incredulously. "How on Earth are you so calm? You're having a baby!"

"I've got plenty of time," replied JJ calmly. "But would you mind getting me a change of clothes?"

"Yeah, for sure. Wait here, okay, I'll be right back. I need to go tell everyone what just happened."

In her haste, Emily closed the bathroom door a little more loudly than she'd intended. It got everyone's attention, and they all focused on her. She stared back, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and excitement. "You guys, JJ's water just broke. She's in labour."

"Is she going to deliver in the bathroom?" asked Morgan, eyebrows shooting up.

"You know, Morgan, statistically speaking, JJ has an average of -" Reid began, holding up one finger as he switched into lecture mode.

"We have to land now!" Hotch said authoritatively, cutting Reid off before he could get too far in. He stood up, stretched, and began to head toward the cockpit.

JJ opened the bathroom door and hurried towards him, clutching a towel. "Hotch, I am having this baby in Quantico, with Will and my second family by my side, not in some random hospital in Chicago," she said, quietly but firmly. Her eyes were steely and determined. "Which reminds me, I need to call Will."

Hotch stared her down for a few seconds, but then looked down. "If you're sure you can wait that long," he said slowly. "I'll call and get an ambulance waiting once we land in Quantico."

"Thank you, Hotch," said JJ, reaching over to extract her cell phone from her bag. She flipped it open, and hit 1 on speed dial. She shifted restlessly while it rang.

"Hey, love, how's it going?" asked Will.

JJ relaxed with relief at the familiar sound of his drawl. "Great. Will – I'm in labour."

"Baby, that's fantastic! Wait- are you on the plane right now?" he asked, frowning, his grip tightening on the phone in his hand.

"Yeah, I am. We're landing in Quantico in an hour. Can you meet me at the hospital with Henry?" she asked, crossing her legs.

"Sure. We'll be waiting there when you get there! Love you!" Will replied excitedly, and then the line went dead with a click.

Smiling widely, JJ rubbed her back with one hand and dropped her phone back into her bag with the other.

"I'll call Garcia." Morgan opened his laptop and started Skype, drumming his fingers impatiently against the table. He quickly called the technical analyst, fingers crossed that she'd pick up. "Hey, baby girl, guess who's having a baby?" he said, as soon as her face appeared on the screen.

Garcia's squeal was so loud it could be heard in the cockpit. "Oh my God! Right now? Like, in the plane?"

JJ stood with some difficulty, and shuffled towards Morgan and the laptop. She leaned into the webcam, and smiled, waving at the woman on the other side. "Don't worry, Penn, I promise I'm going to wait until I'm on the ground before this one comes out." She bent over, fingers digging at her back as another contraction rocked her.

"Oh my God, is it coming now?" Garcia gasped, hands flying to her face.

"No, Garcia, it's just another contraction," JJ ground out, rubbing her stomach with one hand. She stayed bent double until the spasm abated. "Look, I've got to go lie down, but I'll see you soon. Love you!" She blew a kiss, and Garcia campily reached out and caught it, pressing it to her heart.

"I love you, sweetie. Stay strong."

JJ lowered herself carefully into a sitting position on the nearest seat, Reid helping her to keep her balance. She thanked him with a tight smile. He nodded awkwardly and patted her hand.

Emily was digging through JJ's suitcase for a spare pair of pants. She found a pair of black maternity pants, and a clean pair of underwear, which she concealed in the pants. She moved over to her own suitcase, and found a maxi pad, which she put in with the underwear. "These are for you, Jayje," she said, proffering the neatly folded pants.

"Yeah, good idea." JJ stood up labouriously, and swayed towards the bathroom. She disappeared behind the closed doors, and when she emerged, she wore a tiny smile and a fresh pair of pants. She found herself staring at five curious faces.

"You guys, I'm okay. I'll be fine till we land. I think I'll try to relax until then. Does anyone have a good book?" she asked, sitting down at her spot on the couch and stretching out.

"I've got one. Here!" Reid held up an unappealingly thick book, entitled, 'The Anatomy of Melancholy.' He got up and passed it to her.

The blonde took it gingerly, and delicately flipped open. She quickly scanned the tiny print on the first page, and then shut the book and handed it back. "No thanks, Reid. I think I'd rather suffer through contractions."  
>"Are you sure? I found it fascinating!" he said, sounding a little hurt.<p>

"Of course you would, boy genius," said Morgan, reaching over and ruffling his friend's hair affectionately. "Let's let JJ relax and try to get some rest until we land. She'll need all her energy for later."

"Thanks, Morgan," replied JJ, melting against the pillows as best her pregnant body would let her. She closed her eyes, and did her best to stay calm until the jet landed in Quantico less than an hour later.

As soon as the jet was on the ground, Morgan was helping JJ to her feet and through the doors, and into the waiting ambulance. "I'll go with her!" he called to Hotch, as the doors slammed shut and the vehicle took off, sirens screaming.

"I'll drive," offered Emily, as Reid began loading JJ's suitcase and bag into the back of Emily's car. He got into the passenger seat, and Rossi and Hotch got into Hotch's car.

Five minutes later, Emily pulled up outside the entrance to Emergency, and Reid opened the door and headed inside, while she searched for a parking space. Fortunately, it was just before five o'clock and the emergency room was almost empty.

"Have you admitted a Jennifer Jareau?" Reid asked the nurse at the front desk. "She's pregnant."

The nurse looked up with a smile. "We admitted her already. She's in maternity. Room 215."

"Thanks!" Reid said, already leading the rest of the team in the direction of the maternity ward.

When they got there, JJ was already dressed in a johnny gown, and lying propped up in bed, an IV in her arm, and Will standing next to her. Henry was lying at the end of her bed, half-concentrating on the chapter book in his hands.

"I'm not fully dilated yet. They're estimating that I have a few hours to go before I actually have the baby, so they gave me some painkillers and I'm just waiting. They're running tests to see if the baby's ready to come out," she explained, cheerfully, hoping they wouldn't see just how worried she was.

"How regular are your contractions?" asked Reid, sitting down at a chair next to her bed.

"Six minutes, I think." JJ blew out a breath and winced as another contraction gripped her. She dug her fingers into the rails around her bed so hard her knuckles went white. Her fingers found her belly, and she rubbed it gently.

"Well, once they get down to two minutes, then you should be ready," he said, then caught the look Rossi was giving him. "Sorry."

"It's fine," JJ said, relaxing against the bed. "Look, I'm going to be here a while, so why don't you guys go get coffee or some sleep or anything. Will can call you if anything changes."

"Coffee sounds pretty good to me right about now." Emily yawned against her will, and leaned against the doorframe. "My treat. We'll be back, JJ."

"Take your time," JJ called, waving as the rest of the team walked out the door. She let her eyes flicker shut, waiting for the next contraction to strike.

"There's coffee in the cafeteria. It's down on the first floor and to the right," Will said, holding up his cup of liquid and taking a sip. "It's crap but it's caffeinated crap."

"Thanks for the recommendation, Will. We'll be back in a few minutes."

An hour later, the contractions intensified. Sensing Henry was beginning to get scared, JJ reached out and pulled her son close, planting a soft kiss on his silky blonde hair. "Look, Henry, why don't you go outside and wait with Dr. Reid and Emily for the next little while, okay? I don't want you to get scared, okay. Remember, mummy loves you," she said, wrapping her arms around her nine-year-old son, and smiling. "I promise we'll let you know as soon as you have a baby sister."

As it turned out, Reid's idea of entertaining a nine-year-old consisted of quoting statistics, and then taking him down to the vending machine at the end of the hall and buying him a can of ginger ale and a chocolate bar.

Emily, who was a little better versed in dealing with a scared young boy, pulled her best friend's son onto her lap and read to him until he fell asleep.

The team grabbed short naps on the cold, uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs outside JJ's room for the next two hours, except for breaks to go in and talk to her. They watched her go through contractions, face screwing up in pain, back arching until the spasm subsided.

Will was by her side the entire time, allowing her to crush his hand in her lithe fingers, massaging her back, and murmuring soothing words during the peak of her contractions.

"Jennifer," began Dr. Monroe, reaching out to make sure everything was still in place in the aftermath of the last contraction.

"JJ," the blonde corrected him through gritted teeth, for the third time since arrival, squeezing Will's hand as another contraction gripped her. Her head went back, and her teeth bared in pain.

The petite auburn-haired doctor lifted JJ's gown to check her progress. When she looked up, she looked absolutely delighted. "You're crowning, JJ! Just a few more pushes and she'll be out."

"Really? Uh, finally!" JJ wiped sweaty tendrils of hair out of her face, and braced herself for the next contraction, feeling it building, spreading through her stomach and legs like fire. Her fingers clenched like a vise around Will's, her skin slick on his. She let a low, feral growl of pain gather in the back of her throat, and it burst free as she bore down.

"Got her head," Dr. Monroe called, getting ready to catch the baby as it came out. "Only a few more pushes. You can do this, Jennifer."

"Come on, JJ. I know you can do this," Will said encouragingly, flexing his fingers experimentally, before giving her his hand again. "Bring our baby girl into the world!"

JJ's knuckles went white and her back arched. She pushed with everything she had, riding the wave of burning pain, once, twice, three times. She felt a scream of intense pain rip itself from her throat, and with a final push, it was all over.

There a loud wail, and JJ's eyes lit up. "Can I hold her?" she asked, holding out her arms as Dr. Monroe quickly wiped off and wrapped the baby, handing her to her mother.

"Oh, she's beautiful," breathed JJ, cuddling the infant against her chest. "She's got your nose, Will."

"She's the most gorgeous baby girl ever," Will said, eyes glowing softly with happiness. "And she's all ours. I'm going to get Henry before they take her to the ICU."

"She's so tiny," Henry said, eyes lighting up at the sight of his sister. "And so wrinkly." He examined her curiously, as she yawned.

"She won't be wrinkly forever, I promise," Will said reassuringly, hugging Henry warmly.

"Can I see Emily?" asked JJ, reluctant to surrender her daughter to the nurses, who were hovering.

"Of course," Will said, his Southern drawl more pronounced with emotion. "Come on, Henry. Let's give momma some privacy, okay? I'll get you a soda."

"Reid already did." Henry dimpled, reaching out to take his father's hand as the two walked out of the room together.

"You look amazing," Emily said, as she stretched out her stiff limbs, and walked into the room. "Wow, she's so lovely. Hello there, little princess. Do you have a name?"

JJ smiled, holding the sleeping infant close. "I was thinking of Emily. Emily Charlotte LaMontagne."

"Oh, JJ." Emily's eyes welled with tears. "Thank you so much." She bent down and hugged the blonde around the baby.

"One more thing. Will you be the godmother?" asked JJ, looking up with a soft smile. "She'll need a good influence if anything happens and there's nobody I'd trust more. I know you'll be great with Declan."

A lone tear broke over and spilled down Emily's cheek, running down the hollows made by her wide smile. She wiped it away, smile widening. "JJ, I'd be honoured." She leaned down again to kiss her friend's cheek gently, before heading to the door to get the rest of the team. "Oh, and JJ?"

"Yeah, Em?"

"Congratulations. I'm so proud of you." Emily pressed her lips together to stop the tears of joy, blinking rapidly.

Rossi spoke softly in Italian to the sleeping newborn, Hotch stroked her cheek with one calloused finger, Morgan stuck his hands in his pockets and offered his congratulations, and Garcia had a hard time fitting through the door because she was so laden with balloons, flowers, and stuffed animals.

"JJ, my love! You look fantastic after 12 hours of labour! Oh, let me look at you. And your baby. She's just so precious!" Garcia dropped her booty on the nearest chair and began tying the balloons to JJ's bed. She put a giant pink plush bear on the chair next to JJ, and pulled a stuffed teddy with a shiny satin ribbon tied in a perfect bow around its neck from behind her back. "For the baby. What's her name?"  
>"It's Emily," JJ replied, taking the teddy. "This is adorable. I'm sure she'll love it. Thanks, Penn, for everything."<p>

"Oh, you know I'm going to spoil this child just as much as Henry," Garcia said ecstatically, hugging JJ, before turning to let Reid in. "Ciao, darling. We'll be back."

"I don't doubt that," JJ grinned, tucking the blanket more tightly around little Emily. "Hey Spence."

"How are you feeling?" he asked, shuffling into the room.

"A little tired, a little sore, but perfect," she replied. "Em, meet Reid."

"Hi," he said softly, waggling his long fingers at the baby, even though her eyes were closed. "She's so cute, JJ. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Spence," she said, leaning back against the pillows. "I have a question for you. Will you be her godfather?"

"Of course, JJ. I'd love to," he replied, as a nurse edged past him, wheeling an incubator.

"Ma'am, we're going to have to take her to the ICU now. You can visit any time, alright?" she said, taking the baby from JJ's protesting arms. "Congratulations, Mrs. Jareau, she's lovely."

"Thank you," JJ replied, blue eyes following the nurse as she wheeled Emily away. She closed her eyes, sighing heavily as the door closed behind her. "Reid, I need to get some sleep."

"Right. I'll see you soon," he said, smiling. He moved over to her bed, and pulled a small stuffed animal from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "This is for her. I saw these in the gift shop and thought they were hilarious. It's also a reminder to make sure she gets her measles vaccination."

"Oh, Spence!" JJ laughed, turning the plush germ over and over in her hands. "What is it, exactly?"

"An adorable but relatively inaccurate stuffed toy in the shape of the measles virus," Reid said, showing her the tag. "Well, I should go."

"Thanks, Reid," she said, giving the tall, thin agent a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. "Can you get Emily into Yale?"

"JJ, you know I can."


	17. The Adoption Papers

**A/N: **Sorry this took me so long to update! I've just started university and it's keeping me pretty busy. I'm winding this down, so there will only be two or three more chapters. Thanks a million to everyone who's read, faved, and especially reviewed. Please drop me a review if you liked this chapter!

* * *

><p>Emily straightened her blazer in front of the mirror for the last time, and checked the clock on the wall. If she didn't hurry out the door, she was going to be late. She rearranged her curls so they fell over her shoulders, and grabbed her bag on her way out the door.<p>

On her way to the car, she dialed Hotch's number, and slid her key into the ignition, turning it. The engine started, as he picked up. "Hey, it's me," she said, guiding the car out of the driveway and out of the hotel parking lot.

"I'm just leaving now," he said, as he waved to JJ and breezed through into the elevator. "I'll meet you there."

"Sounds good. Thanks so much!" she replied, hanging up with a click, and beginning the drive to West Virginia.

Yawning, she snapped on the radio, and let the beat of a pop ballad calm her down. Last night had been a late one, even though baby Emily Charlotte had been born at 8:16 pm, the rest of team had headed out to a bar to get celebratory drinks, and much to her chagrin, it had been midnight before Emily was at home, and even later before she'd fallen asleep, having trouble adjusting to the quiet of the hotel room.

She and Hotch had already agreed that the last thing Declan would need was to be sharing a room with Jack after adoption, and so the two were sharing a hotel suite at the nearest Marriott, until the last repairs on the farmhouse were done. Last night had been her first night there, and although it certainly was nice, she preferred the lived-in family ambience of the house that had become her home in the last month. Even though she stubbornly refused to admit it, she missed the way she, Hotch, and Jack had become a little family. They had completely saved her from the worry that nobody would accept her back.

Pulling into the schoolyard at precisely 11:30, Emily parked her car down in the lower parking lot, and waited for Hotch by the front gates, as promised. She smiled instinctively at the dark-haired man, and he returned the smile. It made her feel instantly warm, in a way that had nothing to do with the midday June sunshine.

"You're almost late," he said, teasingly, as they began to walk up the front hill towards the huge white tent set up on the field, billowing gently in the wind.

"Almost, but not quite," she returned, as they entered the tent and looked around for seats. "I wouldn't be late for this."

He slid into a seat with a clear view of the stage, and Emily took a seat next to him. They sat in comfortable silence as the tent filled up with parents, siblings, and relatives. At exactly 12:00, a shorter man with salt-and-pepper hair ascended the stage, academic robes billowing in the summer breeze.

"I'd like to welcome you all to Oakville Academy's 2012 closing ceremonies. It's been a fantastic year, and I'm so glad you all have been part of it…"

Emily fixed her attention on the headmaster, but found it hard to focus on the words of his speech. She let her mind wander, exploring the possibilities of signing the adoption papers. Would there be tears? Laughter? Would it be bittersweet? She twisted her fingers in her lap, resisting the urge to bite her nails.

"Em, it's going to be okay," whispered Hotch in her ear, taking her hands gently in his.

"I know." She managed a small smile.

"Look, they're lining up," he whispered again, gesturing to the right side of the stage, where the grade 10s where sorting themselves into a line by alphabetical order. Declan was near the end of the line, with the Ts. He looked up, caught her eye, and smiled shyly, dipping his head again.

One by one, each of the prize winners walked across the stage to receive a tie, or a pin. Declan's class was apparently quite full of smart, driven kids, because it seemed that almost all of the grade 10s were getting their honours tie. Eventually, they got towards the end of the alphabet. He was three away, two away, next… and then, when 'Matthew Thatcher' was called, he stepped up the rickety stairs and walked calmly towards the headmaster. He shook his hand, took his tie, and walked off the stage to join the growing line of teens waiting at the front for the mandatory photo opp.

Eventually, the last diploma had been handed out, and the closing remarks were over. The tent slowly began to empty of people, and Emily lost Declan's distinctive blond head in the crowd.

There were a handful of blondes in identical blue blazers and grey flannel pants.

Dodging clumps of recent graduates, radiant in their white tunics, Emily and Hotch made their way out into the brilliant sunlight.

"Matthew!" she called out, and then he turned away from his friend, smiled, and lifted a hand in acknowledgement. There were a few hugs and he tucked his hands in his pockets as he headed towards the two agents.

"I'm ready to go," he said, smiling. "My stuff's all packed. It's up in my room."

"Sounds good," Hotch offered, waiting for Declan to lead the way. "Do you have a lot of stuff?"

"Not really," Declan replied, leading the way in the opposite direction of the rest of the crowd, towards a smaller house on the edge of campus. "My dorm's this way. I'm in Erikson House."

The wind was blowing softly through the tall poplars lining the path adjacent to the parking lot. He pulled out his ID card from his pants pocket and swiped it. Opening the door, he ushered them into a small, brightly lit hallway, and up the stairs to the third floor. On the far end of the hallway, he opened the last door, and pushed it back to keep it open.

It was a smallish single room, with taupe walls, one window, and a simple desk with a standard-issue plastic chair, and a single bed, stripped of bedding. He had one medium navy blue suitcase by the door, bedding neatly rolled inside a blue recycling bag, and three boxes neatly stacked on his desk.

"Is this everything?" asked Emily, looking around for anything he might have missed, but the room was spotless.

"This is it," he affirmed, shuffling his feet a little bit.

"Well, the good news is that this won't take long," Hotch offered, picking up two boxes and letting Emily take the last box and his bedding. Declan deftly picked up his suitcase, snapping out the handle, and rolling it into the hallway. He took a final look around the bare room, and closed the door softly.

* * *

><p>Louise's house was refreshingly cool, a nice respite from the scorching mid-afternoon sun.<p>

Her lawyer was already settled at the kitchen table when they arrived, nursing a tall glass of water clinking with ice.

"Can I get you anything?" Louise asked, untying her apron, and hanging it up.

"I'd love a glass of water, if you don't mind," Emily said politely, sliding the sheaf of papers across the kitchen table to the man in the suit. She settled herself across the table, with Hotch next to her.

"We'll get started," Louise's lawyer began, signing his name at the bottom of one of the sheets. "I trust you've read through the terms and conditions?"

"Of course," Emily assured him, folding her hands on the table. "I agree to take good care of Declan, not abuse him in any way, or anything like that. He'll be treated like my own child."

"Good." He slid the sheaf back, the lines for her to sign marked neatly with an x.

Emily turned to smile at the blond teenager sitting on the arm of the sofa, and watching with wide grey eyes. "Is this what you want, Declan?" she asked, one last time.

"Yes. Absolutely yes!" he replied, jumping off the sofa to hug her tightly.

"It's settled, then." Emily uncapped her pen and signed her name on the black line. She handed the pen and papers to Hotch, to sign as a witness, and then the lawyer took the papers back. He scanned their signatures, and handed them to Emily, a smile on his lips.

"Congratulations, Ms. Prentiss. You're now a mother."

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry your first night with me isn't in our own house," Emily apologized, as she slid the hotel key into the lock and turned until she heard it click. She swept her gaze over the neatly made beds and smiled softly to herself.<p>

"It's perfect," Declan said quietly, wheeling his suitcase and overnight bag over to the unoccupied bed by the window. He yawned, and flopped down gingerly on the luxurious bed, letting the cool comforter puff up around his arms. He was still in his school uniform, and looked like he was barely going to make it to his suitcase to get changed.

"Are you hungry? We can order room service," Emily offered, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and checking her watch. It was just after nine o'clock, and they hadn't eaten since going over to Hotch's for a quick visit after spending the afternoon with Louise.

"I think I need to sleep," Declan replied, lazily reaching up to loosen his school tie. He pulled it off, and sat up sleepily to shrug his blazer off.

Emily unzipped his suitcase for him, and handed him the pair of plaid flannel pajama pants and matching t-shirt from on top of his clothes. "I'm going to retire for the night," she said, padding to the door of her room, before turning around to go back to him, pulling him in for a hug. "It's good to have you back."

He relaxed into her touch, eyes closing. "It's good to be back. Thanks so much, Miss Emily."

"It's just Emily now," she said, holding him close. "We'll have some bonding time tomorrow, okay? We'll get to know each other."  
>"Sounds good," he muffled into her arms, eyelids flickering dangerously already.<p>

"I'll see you in the morning," Emily said, standing up and making her way to her room. The door clicked shut behind her, and she began to change out of her formal clothes into her pajamas. After brushing her teeth, she headed to the window and pulled back the gossamer curtain to look out over the sleeping city.

Quantico was quiet, the distant rushing of traffic dim. Lights shone brightly, and Emily vaguely recognized the BAU building, backlit by white strobe lights.

Feeling oddly comforted, she released the curtain and turned around. She slid under the covers of the bed, fan whirring comfortingly, and closed her eyes. It didn't take long for the day's events to overwhelm her, and she quickly succumbed to sleep.


	18. The New Beginning

**A/N: **I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get an update! Uni is really keeping me busy, but this story is wrapping up. There's only two chapters left. I'm not sure if this chapter should cause a rating change, but there's a little Hotly action, so if you're sensitive, then maybe you should skip to the last third. Anyway, I hope you all like it, and as always, please don't forget to review!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>

Emily ran her hands through her hair as she locked the door behind her, and hurried to her room to change into her messy clothes. She slid out of what she had adopted as her BAU summer uniform: a grey pencil skirt with a cap-sleeved peach-coloured blouse, in favour of her navy coveralls over a plain blue t-shirt and denim shorts.

The house was empty, because Hotch had very sweetly offered to let her change there instead of going back to the hotel after finishing the last of her post-case paperwork. He and Jack were out, doing father-son bonding things, and Declan was off hanging out with some school friends for the day.

Emily picked her checklist off the kitchen table on her way out the door, and prepared for the drive to the farmhouse. She had some serious work to do if she was going to get it ready for the move-in date, which was in a week. The last case had dragged on for days in a stalemate, and she had lost precious time that she so desperately needed for cleaning, painting, and other odd jobs.

She brought her car as close to the house as possible, and began the tedious task of unloading her cans of paint, paintbrushes, rollers, and trays. The day had blossomed into a gorgeous, scorching-hot late June afternoon, and beads of sweat dotted her temples by the time she leaned gratefully against the kitchen counter, grateful for a respite from the sun.

Cracking open a water bottle from the case in the fridge, she drank deeply before getting down to business. She had managed to get the taping done last night, so all she had to was get the first coat of creamy yellow paint on the kitchen walls. She dipped her roller in the buttery paint, and began to roll it over the walls, coating them evenly. The colour was perfect, and immediately brightened up the sun-soaked kitchen, as it covered the old, dingy taupe paint.

Standing back, Emily crossed her arms as she surveyed her work. The paint was still wet, but had been neatly applied and there were no bald patches or smudges. She mentally patted herself on the back, congratulating herself on a job well done.

The sound of a car's wheels crunching on the gravel driveway distracted her from admiring the made-over kitchen. Surprised, she looked up, frowning. Everybody she knew was busy for the day, and she wasn't expecting any contractors. Feeling a small spark of suspicion in the pit of her stomach, she edged around to the window, and was startled to see a familiar car parked in her driveway. The door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out, squinting in the sun.

She had the door opened by the time he got to the door, wearing a huge smile. "Aaron. I wasn't expecting you here. I thought you and Jack were hanging out."

"We were, but he's been wanting to see Jessica for a while, and she misses him," he explained, taking off his sunglasses and giving her a smile of his own. "I thought I'd stop by and see if you needed any help. May I come in?"

"Of course!" Emily said, opening the door wide, and stepping aside to let him in. She made her way into the kitchen, inhaling the chemical smell of fresh paint, and practically tripping over an empty tray of paint in the process. Blushing, she caught herself and moved the offending tray to the counter. "I just painted the walls, so don't touch them."

"Wow. It looks great," he said, taking in the yellow walls with appraisal. "Is there anything I can do to help with the rest of the house?"

"I've gotten most of the cleaning done, but I was going to paint the bathroom today," she replied, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of her face. She tucked them behind her ears and looked up. Bending down, she picked up the paint cans and handed him the clean trays and rollers. "It's a pretty small room, so if you still want to stay, we should get it done fairly quickly."

"Em, I didn't show up to leave at the prospect of painting," he said teasingly, following her up the stairs and into the bathroom, where she had already cracked the first can of paint and was pouring it into a clean tray. The paint she'd chosen was a cream, light but rich, with just a hint of butter.

"That's good, because I'm going to work you hard today," she promised with a devious smirk, a twinkle in her dark eyes.

"I don't mind at all," he replied, voice dropping a notch. He picked up a roller and began smoothing the paint on the walls in long, even strokes.

Twenty minutes later, Emily painted the last stripe down the side of the wall, and she stepped back to admire their handiwork. He stepped back at the same time, and they collided, knocking her backward into the sink. Temporarily off balance, she stumbled, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

He tilted his head towards hers, and he impulsively pressed his lips gently to hers, giving in to what he'd wanted to do ever since the first time they'd lain together in her loft, the shadow of Ian Doyle looming over them both. He could taste the sweet flavour of her chapstick. She tightened her grip as sparks exploded in front of her vision, and she melted against him, molding the curves of her body to his contours. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and let him lift her so she was sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter, trailing feather-light kisses down his neck to the collar of his crew-neck.

His fingers intertwined with her long dark hair, pulling her to him, and she nibbled on his earlobe as his lips traced the line of her collarbone, leaving her skin tingling under his touch.

"I'd say that we should take this to the bedroom, but I don't have one right how," Emily whispered in his hear, lips fiery on his skin.

"We'll make do," he replied huskily, hand moving south to sit on her rear, as she dug her fingernails into his back, one hand slipping under the hem of his shirt and caressing the heated skin of his back. His hips moved in time with hers, and she could feel his fingers against her back, flicking the clasp of her bra with one quick, deft movement.

Her fingers fumbled with his belt buckle as their lips met again, and she realized that this was the moment she'd wished for and wanted for years. And although she wouldn't necessarily have imagined it as being in a tiny, freshly-painted bathroom, it still felt like all of her dreams were coming true.

* * *

><p>It wasn't like she'd been entirely celibate over the last five years, because even though the memories brought a hot flush of shame to her cheeks, there had been a few one-night-stands in the middle period of her exile. They were mostly awkward, slightly-drunk encounters, crushed up against the wall in the bathroom of a club, and they left her feeling even emptier than she had when she'd walked in, dressed to kill. The entire time, she'd realized that she replaced their faces with his.<p>

There was no walk of shame this time, and instead of feeling dirty and used, she felt whole and fulfilled for the first time in heaven only knew how long.

She'd been wanting to ask for so long, and now seemed like as good a time as any, even though they were sitting on the floor in her unfinished living room, drinking from bottles of water.

"I have a lot of space here, and since Jack and Declan clearly adore each other, would you consider moving in with me?" Emily asked, studying a knot in the glossy hardwood floor intently.

"Wow, Em. That's a big offer. Are you sure?" he replied, tilting her chin up gently so he could look into her eyes.

"I wouldn't ask if I had my doubts. They could each have their own bedroom, and there are enough bathrooms," she said, shrugging lightly. "Besides, you know Jack loves it here."

"Will Declan be okay with it?" asked Hotch seriously, eyes never leaving her face.

"He told me yesterday that he thinks of you and Jack like the family he never had. I think that's what we all want: family," Emily said softly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ears. "We may not be the American dream, but at least we care about each other."

"That's all I can ever ask for," he replied, leaning forward to kiss her lightly on the cheek. Emily leaned into his touch, and pulled him down for a hug, feeling warm and safe in his arms.

"You know what Jack told me last week?" he asked, a smile appearing on his face at the memory.

"What?"

"He said, 'Dad, I love mom so much, and I still miss her, but I know she'd want us to be happy. Maybe it's time to move on.'

"I asked him what he meant, and he told me, 'Emily makes you happy. Maybe you guys should date or something," Hotch concluded, with a chuckle.

"He understands so much more than we give him credit for," Emily laughed, snuggling closer to his warm body.

"He's not a child anymore." A touch of sadness flitted across his face for a fleeting second. "I think we all deserve a second chance at happiness."

"Does that mean you'll come live here?" she asked softly, hardly daring to believe it was true.

"We all need family. I think we'd make a good one," he said, lowering his head so his chin rested gently atop her glossy hair. "If you can handle us, I'd love it."

"I can definitely handle it," she replied. "I can't wait to have a family again." She sighed contentedly, happy to stay on the floor with him forever. It was the start of a new beginning.


	19. The New House

**A/N: **I'm so sorry about the delay in updates! I can't even believe it's been three months. I'm terrible. Anyway, I got sick for a couple months and so I wasn't really in any shape to write because I was either sleeping, feverish, hopped up on painkillers, or doing homework. Mesenteric adenitis is not a good time. They finally got it figured out and I've been better for probably about a month now, but I've been really busy preparing for exams and catching up on schoolwork. I don't usually review whore (or I try not to), but I'd really love to get to 100+ reviews for this story, and I only have one more chapter of this one. If you guys could make that happen, it would really mean a lot. I love getting feedback, and every review makes me smile. You guys have been awesome, and I really appreciate everybody who reads this.

That's enough about me, so here's the next update!

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><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>

It was finally moving day. Emily felt like a child on Christmas morning; she'd barely slept at all, and she suspected Declan was feeling the same way.

She emerged from her room at exactly five after seven, dressed casually in denim shorts paired with a loose taupe chiffon button-down, with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was pulled back in a neat side braid, and her face was fresh and free of any traces of make-up.

"Morning, Emily," said Declan, who was just zipping up his suitcase and moving his bags – of which there weren't many – next to the door.

"You're awfully chipper for just after seven on a Saturday," she noted cheerfully, wheeling her suitcase over to the door.

"It's moving day," the blond grinned, piercing blue eyes lighting up with excitement. He gave a half-shrug, adding, "I'm used to early mornings, anyway. What time are we getting out of here, anyway?"

"As soon as we can load the car and get breakfast," Emily replied, opening the door and grabbing her suitcase. She wheeled it down the hallway toward the elevator, Declan toting his suitcase and duffel bag with practiced ease.

Two trips later, the car was packed, and they were sitting at a sun-drenched table in the hotel's restaurant, eating breakfast. Emily was happily sipping a cappuccino, while Declan tucked into a breakfast sandwich and sausages as though he'd never seen food before.

"So when are Aaron and Jack coming by with their stuff?" asked Declan, between mouthfuls of egg and ham.

"I think they're coming by around 10," Emily replied, as she drained the last, delicious drops of her cappuccino and began on her bacon and eggs. "We'll need some time to get our stuff inside before they get there. Hopefully we can get the bulk of the moving in done today, and spend tomorrow getting settled.

"Sounds good to me." He smiled, and took a swig of his orange juice.

"I'm glad we moved most of our furniture in a few days ago," Emily said, thankful that she and Hotch had used their week off after four back-to-back cases to start transferring some of his furniture over to the farmhouse. So far, they had managed to get the living room moved in, and Emily's room. Hotch's room was empty except for his dresser, and Declan and Jack's beds were arriving later.

"Yeah, me too," agreed Declan, giving her one of his irresistible grins.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive. Too wired to sleep, Declan looked out the window at the scenery racing by, until Emily pulled up in front of the old farmhouse.

They hopped out, and began unloading the trunk. Declan set about carrying their suitcases up to their respective bedrooms, while Emily stacked boxes of napkins, cutlery, and other accessories on the kitchen counter.

Without the rest of the furniture, Emily began sorting the cutlery and setting up the kitchen. Next to her, Declan hummed along to the pop song on the radio as he transferred their food from the giant cooler to the fridge.

"Hi Emily!" called Jack an hour later, bouncing through the open door. "We're here!"

"We come bearing furniture," put in Hotch from behind him, standing in the doorway and smiling, two suitcases in his hands.

Emily pushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face and stood up, smiling, as she hugged Jack, and spun to face Hotch. "Am I glad to see you. Let's get the sofas and tables moved in."

"Sure thing." He flashed his dimples, and her heart jumped. "Jack, buddy, why don't you take your stuff upstairs and start unpacking?"

Jack picked up his suitcase and hurried upstairs to explore. The room at the very end of the hall was clearly Declan's; it already featured a few posters of bands and movies, as well as his Macbook on his desk, next to a box of books. "Hey, Declan," he said, hesitating on the threshold.

"Come on in." The older boy looked up from his bookcase and made a sweeping gesture with his arms. "Do you know where your room is?"

"Yeah, it's next door," Jack replied, having taken a brief look on his way by. "It's really nice."

"It sure is," agreed Declan, straightening the last of his books and flattening the box gently. "Do you need any help with your stuff? I can get some of your boxes. I'm basically done here."

"That'd be great." Just like his father, Jack dimpled with pleasure, as he followed the blond down the stairs to go get his boxes.

Four boxes and twenty minutes later, both boys were sitting on the floor in Jack's room, drinking icy lemonade and lounging against his suitcase and bag of bedding.

"So, are you excited to live here?" asked Declan, grinning amiably as he slurped away at his lemonade. He wasn't used to spending so much time around twelve-year-olds, but Jack reminded him of some of the younger boys in his dorm, and he felt somewhat obliged to keep the conversation going.

"Yup." Jack nodded vigourously. He pushed off the floor and stood up, heading over to his boxes, all stacked on his desk. He picked at the tape, and ripped the glossy strip off, opening the box of his books. He carried a few armfuls of books over to his bookshelf and began arranging them in order of series and genre, while Declan got rid of the empty boxes.

Half an hour later, Jack's clothes were unpacked and folded neatly in his closet, and Declan's room was beginning to resemble a teenage boy's room.

His posters were still rolled in the corner, but his clothes had been unpacked, and aside from the conspicuous absence of a bed, the room was taking on more personality. His textbooks were stacked on the top shelf of his desk, and he had his shower caddy all ready to go.

Downstairs, Emily and Hotch were debating how to move the boys' beds upstairs, and half an hour later, both boys had beds in their rooms.

Sweaty and tired, they collapsed at the newly moved kitchen table, a round hardwood beauty that reminded Emily of her croft.

"I think this calls for lemonade," she said, holding out her hand to Hotch for a high-five. "We're doing a great job at this moving thing."

"I'd say we are," he agreed, standing up to get the pitcher and two tall glasses. He poured icy cups and handed her one. "What else do we have to do today?"

"Ummm," Emily said, taking a long pull at her glass, and consulting her checklist. Smiling, she crossed two items off it, and scanned the last few items. "We have to get our stuff moved into our respective rooms and then get the kitchen ready for use. I'll do that, if you bring our stuff upstairs. Then we need to go grocery shopping."

"Sounds good to me," Hotch replied, finishing his glass and setting it by the kitchen sink. "I'll trust you to get everything set up down here."

"I think I can handle it," Emily teased, as she stood up and began snipping the tape on the box labeled 'Plates'. She began to stack the china in the freshly cleaned cupboards, and put the flattened cardboard box on the table, as Hotch came in with his first load of boxes. Humming to herself, she got to work on the cutlery drawer, and the pottery cups for holding whisks, spatulas, and tongs.

"Emily, do you need any help with supper?" asked Declan a few minutes later, poking his blond head around the staircase. "I'm done with my room, so if they're anything else I can do to help, let me know."

"Actually, Aaron's going grocery shopping later, so if you want to go, I'm sure he'd appreciate that," Emily called back, adjusting the dishcloths so they hung evenly from the rack on the oven door.

"Sure. What did you have in mind for supper?" asked Declan, descending the stairs, and immediately picking up the box of electronics and putting it on the kitchen table. "Where do you want these to go?"

"If you could start putting them in the lower two cupboards, that would be great. And I was thinking something along the lines of grilled chicken and a salad. I'll get the barbeque going if you boys can handle the salad and drinks," Emily said, as she tucked the last box away.

"I think we can handle that," Declan said, wrestling the Kitchen-Aid out of the box and setting it gently on the second shelf.

"What, you don't trust us with the barbeque?" asked Hotch, appearing from the upstairs. His eyes were sparkling with a light Emily hadn't seen in a while.

"Hardly." Emily turned away from the counter and grinned. "I like this place, I'd rather it didn't burn down any time soon."

"Alright, well, in that case, I guess I'll need to get some food to make this meal, won't I?" said Hotch rhetorically. "Declan, do you and Jack want to come with me?"

"Sure." Declan hurried to the front hallway and began to tie his shoelaces, while yelling Jack's name.

Emily chuckled as the younger boy came pounding down the stairs, running past her, and skidding to a stop just in front of the front door.

"Bye, Em, we'll be back in a bit," called Hotch, and the door clicked shut behind him.

* * *

><p>"I think we're ready," said Hotch, as he placed a heaping bowl of salad. Jack put down bottles of extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and Declan set the table.<p>

"Voila, chicken," called Emily, as she placed a piece of the grilled meat on each plate, and carefully spooned sauce over them.

There was a pop from behind her, and she spun around, still holding her tongs. "What was that?"

"Wine." Hotch grinned, brandishing a corkscrew. He produced a bottle of sparkling wine from behind his back and set it gently on the counter, reaching up for four wine glasses. He poured glasses for himself, Emily, and Declan, and a quarter-glass for Jack.

As Declan and Jack carried the plates to the table, Emily turned off the kitchen lights, dimming the lighting instantly. The rosy glow of sunset filled the kitchen, and the walls glowed in the rich golden light.

With a raspy grate, Emily lit a match and leaned forward to light the candles. Hotch snuck a peek at her as he put the wine glasses on the table. Her glossy dark hair hung in front of her face, and her skin was luminous in the candlelight. Her smile, however, said it all.

She pushed back her chair and settled in, passing the salad bowl around. When it had made its way back to her, she put it down, and held up her wine glass. "I propose a toast," she said, voice slightly husky with an undertone of emotion, "to family."

"To family," they echoed, each taking a sip.

And there, bathed in flickering candlelight and the warm sunset, life couldn't have been more perfect.


	20. The End

**A/N: **Wow you guys, I'm so completely excited to have finished this at long last! This is the longest multi-chap I've ever written, and I'm so proud of myself for actually finishing it. This was my first real Criminal Minds story, and I wasn't sure if I'd even get any readers. Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with me through all of this, and everybody who's read/faved. Thank you so much for supporting me! It means so much. I'd really love to reach 100 reviews, so please let me know what you think.

I've had a few questions about a sequel, but I have no plans for one. I think I've exhausted my inspiration for this story arc. It's been a blast to write, but I really don't see myself continuing it further after this.

I'm going to shamelessly self-promote here, but my next CM story is going to be an AU JJ/Will. To give a quick summary, they were childhood best friends, but drifted apart the summer after high school. JJ reunites with him on a case, and they get to reminiscing about when they were younger, which inevitably leads to questions about JJ's main skeleton in the closet: the death of her sister. The two agree that not everything adds up, and go back to Pennsylvania to look for clues. What they find out threatens to rip JJ's family and the entire town apart. Would you be interested in reading that? Please let me know in a review, because I'm not sure whether to continue it past what I've already written. Here's a quick preview:

_JJ pushed open the front doors of the NOPD, and immediately felt the cool blast of air-conditioned air envelop her body, a welcome change from the stifling New Orleans heat. "We're the FBI BAU," she told the security guard._

_"I know who you are," came a familiar voice, and JJ looked up from the security guard and immediately froze._

_"Hello, Will," she replied coolly, refusing to melt to his warm smile and grasping for the shards of her composure. Last time she'd checked, Will LaMontagne was working for the police in East Allegheny as a junior officer. She would never have expected to see him here, in Louisiana of all places, in charge of the homicide department. "What are you doing here?"_

_"Working," he replied casually, looking her up and down. "I'm the lead detective on the case."_

_Well, that changed everything._ /end shameless self-promotion.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and as always, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>

"So when's the housewarming party?" asked Rossi, coming up behind Emily and putting a fresh cup of coffee in front of her.

"What housewarming party?" asked Emily, frowning, and wondering if she and Hotch needed to have a chat about planning parties at her house without her permission.

"Oh, you're not having one? I just thought you'd be looking for a chance to show off that new place of yours," Rossi said, smiling warmly. There was a teasing twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

"I hadn't even thought about it," Emily replied honestly. "We've had practically non-stop cases since we moved in, and I guess we're all just getting used to having a family again."

"If you decided to have one, let me know. I'd be happy to help you throw a wicked party," Rossi offered, sticking his hands in his blazer pockets.

"I'll have to talk to Aar – Hotch," Emily replied, biting back her boss's first name. Even though their relationship was no secret, she prided herself on keeping it professional where the team was concerned. "But thanks, Rossi. I wouldn't know where to start." She flashed him a grateful smile, and he put an affectionate hand on her shoulder.

"Well, you two talk it over, and let me know," he grinned, turning to head back to his office. "I should get back to work."

* * *

><p>"Hotch," Emily said, cornering him in his office.<p>

"What's up, Emily?" he asked, looking up from his current batch of paperwork with a touch of concern.

"We need to have a housewarming party," she said, in a tone that left very little room for argument.

"Okay. I was planning on bringing that up soon, anyway," he replied, clicking his pen and shutting his folder briefly. "It's time to head out now, anyway. We'll talk about it on the way home."

Fifteen minutes later, they were pushing through the BAU's heavy front doors, and stepping out into a gorgeous early-July sunset. The light was like clear gold, and the day's heat was slowly dissipating. Waves of warmth rose from the asphalt, and the cars in the parking lot shimmered with reflected heat.

"So, what did you have in mind?" asked Hotch, as soon as he'd slid into the driver's seat and rolled down the windows.

"I was thinking a small get-together for the team," Emily returned, resting one hand gently on the windowsill and letting the balmy air ruffle her hair.

"Does that include Strauss?"

"It would be rude not to," she replied, focusing on the way the town blended into the country. "She already knows about us anyway, she just hasn't said anything."

"Yeah, well, inviting her would make Rossi happy," said Hotch meditatively, guiding the car out onto the highway. "When are you proposing having this gathering?"

"Sometime in the next few weeks. We could have it in the backyard, and maybe set up some lights and lanterns. We could put out tables for snacks and a main table for dinner. It doesn't have to be a big deal," Emily said, surveying the man next to her with a small smile. "Rossi said he could help us plan if we needed it."

"We'll need it." Hotch's lips compressed slightly. "I've never really planned a party before."

"Hey," Emily said gently, laying a hand on his arm. "We can do it together, and Rossi can give us pointers. It'll be fun. And Declan and Jack will be so excited."

"Well, say no more." He looked away from the road with a grin, and she knew she'd won.

* * *

><p>"Declan! Can you get a chair and help me hang the lights, please?" yelled Emily, balancing precariously on her chair as she struggled to connect a string of white Christmas lights to the next one.<p>

"Coming!" he called back, as he dragged a chair from the table next to the house, with an extra few strings of lights. He boosted himself onto the chair, and connected his lights to Emily's, and hung them over the patio. "How are we looking?"

"Perfect," she replied with a warm smile, stepping down from her chair and surveying the scene.

A long wooden table, courtesy of Rossi, had enough seats for everybody on the team and their respective significant others, with a separate table for Jack and Will. Candles shimmered in glass lights, and a few centerpieces made from wildflowers crowned the table. White Christmas lights hung over the entrance to the house, and another table held drinks.

"It _is_ perfect," agreed Hotch, shrugging on his blazer as he stepped out into the patio. "I think we're all ready."

"I'd say we are. I'm just going to get changed. Where's Jack?" Emily asked, as she bypassed Hotch on her way upstairs.

"He's putting on his tie," called Hotch, and shut the screen door.

"I should probably go do that," said Declan, tugging his collar into place and heading upstairs as well.

Hotch took a last walk around the patio before going back inside to get the punch and the other drinks. He arranged them on the table while he waited for Emily to emerge.

She stepped down the staircase, running a hand down her waist to smooth her dress. It was a dark blue shimmery sheath dress, hitting just above the knee. She had paired it with nude pumps and a blazer overtop. "How do I look?" she asked, catching Hotch's eye.

"You look beautiful. Wow," he said softly, extending a hand to escort her down the last few stairs. Once she was on level ground, he reached down and captured her lips in a kiss.

Before she could deepen it, the crunch of wheels on gravel signaled the approach of their first guess. Looking out the farmhouse window, Hotch recognized Rossi's familiar sleek sports car.

The Italian agent stepped out of the car with Carolyn, carrying a bottle.

"Dave! Welcome to the house!" called Emily, rushing out of the house with her arms open for a hug.

"It's beautiful," he said, pulling her into his arms. "You've done a great job. I brought you a housewarming gift."

"You didn't have to do that," Emily said, but he pushed the bottle of champagne into her hands.

"Our treat," said Rossi, putting an arm gently around Carolyn.

JJ, Will, and Henry arrived next, and Jack greeted his friend with a boyish squeal and immediately showed him up to his room.

"The house looks lovely," JJ said, looking admiringly around the kitchen. "It's lovely, Em. Absolutely gorgeous."

"Thank you," said Emily, coming as close to blushing as Hotch had ever seen her. "It's been a journey."

"We're just so glad to have you back," said JJ honestly, pulling her friend into a hug. "You're back where you belong, with your family."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Emily replied, grinning widely. "It's just so good to be home."

"It's good to have you back, sweetie," came a voice from the door, and the group in the kitchen spun around. In the doorway stood Penelope Garcia. Derek Morgan stood slightly behind her, holding another bottle of wine.

"Ahh!" Emily cried, rushing forward to envelope her in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you made it, Pen."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world! We're so excited to be here!" Garcia gushed, prodding Morgan forward. "We brought you a little present." She flapped a hand in the blonde's face, shushing her efforts to reply. When Emily didn't stop trying to talk over her, she pressed a finger to her lips. "No, baby girl, I insist."

"Well, when she puts it like that," Hotch said teasingly, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her in just a tad closer. "I don't think we can refuse a gift of alcohol."

"I guess not," Emily replied, smiling. "We'll have to enjoy it later. Thank you all."

"Where's Reid?" asked JJ, looking around.

"Right here, actually. Sorry, I got a little lost," he apologized, looking sheepish. "The roads out her are quite serpentine."

"They take some getting used to," Hotch admitted, as the young genius stepped into the kitchen and scanned the place.

"I love what you've done with the place. Do we get a tour?" he asked, putting down his messenger bag down with the shoes.

"Of course!" said Emily. "This is the kitchen. Um, I repainted it. And this is the living room. This used to be an extension of the kitchen, but I turned it into a living room. There's a small oven for baking bread over here, but I use it for storing spare cutlery."

"There's a bathroom over here. Feel free to use it at anytime. Now, shall we go upstairs?" Hotch added, starting up the stairs. "This is Jack's room in here."

"Hi, Dad," the twelve-year-old said, looking up from where he was showing Henry one of his books.

"Hey," said Declan, who had been sitting just out of sight behind Jack's dresser. "I was going to come downstairs earlier, but I thought I'd give you a chance to mingle first."

"Declan! Oh my God, Em, he's so big," Penelope exclaimed, turning delightedly to the brunette. "Wasn't he like eight the last time you saw him?"

"Yeah," Emily said softly. "He was. Declan, meet the team."

He stood up, brushing invisible lint from his grey flannel pants. "Hi, I'm Declan."

"It's lovely to meet you, finally!" said JJ, pulling him into a gentle hug. "I'm JJ."

"I'm Will, JJ's husband," said Will, shaking the teen's hand.

"This is David Rossi, profiler extraordinaire," said Emily, moving down the clustered team.

"I've heard so much about you sir, it's great to finally meet you!" Declan said, shaking Rossi's hand enthusiastically.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you!" Garcia's voice was bordering on a squeal as she gave the blonde teen a bone-cracking hug. When she finally released him, he met Morgan, and Reid, and the group headed back downstairs.

Erin Strauss was hovering awkwardly in the doorway, looking a little unsure of her surroundings. She smiled widely at Emily, as she descended the stairs. "Oh good, I was beginning to think I was in the wrong house. I'm sorry I'm so late; I took a wrong turn," she said, looking around the kitchen appraisingly.

"So did I," offered Spencer, giving her a tentative smile. "The signs are not even close to legal."

"But you found the place, that's what matters," said Emily. "I'm so glad you could make it." She hugged her Section Chief, ignoring Garcia's raised eyebrow.

When the rest of the team had been introduced and the house shown, the party retired to the patio. Declan had hooked up the speakers outside so mellow jazz played softly. Overhead, the Christmas lights twinkled in the warm breeze.

Emily had pressed Jack and Declan into service to help serve the meal, which consisted of broiled salmon, asparagus, and baked potatoes. She had plated it carefully, and Jack was pretty proud to be trusted in carrying the best china out of the kitchen.

As she settled down next to Hotch, she took in the warm atmosphere, the clink of metal on china, and the smell of fresh food and good wine. Yes, it was certainly good to be back.

The night passed quickly, as they talked under the stars. Emily surveyed her friends. David was engaging Strauss, even eliciting a smile and laughter from the usually straight-laced blonde. Declan was floating easily from the adults table to Henry and Jack, who clearly adored him. Reid was talking architecture to JJ and Will, and Morgan and Garcia were flirting comfortably. All in all, it made her glow from the inside out. She'd never really done the hostess thing well – at least, not nearly as well as her mother, but now, she felt as though she'd done something right. It wasn't a polished DC dinner party. It was a rustic country gathering of friends, but it was perfect. It suited all of them, and the conversation and drinks flowed more easily than if it had been a fancy cocktail party. Scanning the scene, she knew they had managed to include everyone.

JJ and Will took off first, having to wake up Henry from where he'd fallen asleep on Jack's bed. She and Hotch waved from the window as their taillights faded into the distance, then returned to the remaining group.

"I should probably get Jack to bed," said Hotch, standing up from his place at the table. Jack was sitting in between Morgan and Garcia, but he was visibly drooping, resting his head against Morgan's arm.

"Come on, Jack," he said gently, shaking his son's shoulder to rouse him. "I think it's time to get to bed, okay, buddy?"

"Okay," Jack replied, blinking owlishly and rubbing his eyes. "Good night, everybody. Have a good night." He waved as he headed inside and upstairs.

"He's so adorable," Garcia stage-whispered to Emily. "I am so incredibly jealous that you get to spend all this time with him."

"I know, I'm so lucky," Emily said, sipping the last of her wine. "He and Declan are great kids. I'm so glad I have both of them in my life."

"You are. You'll have to bring them both around more often," agreed Rossi, who was returning to the table with a drink in either hand. He slid one to Strauss, and took a pull from his own.

"I can probably arrange that," she smiled. "They love you guys."

Spencer yawned, and checked his watch. "It's past midnight. I should probably head out. It's going to be a long drive back."

"Goodnight, Spencer. Thanks for coming. We'll see you tomorrow!" Emily said, as she walked him to the door, hugging him goodbye. She watched as his car headed down the winding driveway, and faded into the distance.

"Yeah, we should probably hit the road as well," Morgan said, standing up. "It's been great to see you guys, and the place looks great."

"I'm so glad you could make it," Emily said, hugging them both tonight. "It's been great to see you both!"

"'Night, Em," said Penelope, kissing her on the cheek. "Thanks for the invite, darling. We will see you tomorrow."

"Bye, Pen," Emily said, waving, as Morgan and Garcia drove away.

Rossi and Strauss were helping to load the dishwasher in the kitchen, as Hotch and Emily entered the room.

"Stop it, Dave!" Emily said, swatting his hand gently away from the china. "We'll do it later."

"It's no problem," said Strauss, smiling. "Oh, and I have something for you both. David, would you mind giving us a minute?"

"Sure," he said, and disappeared out to the patio.

"I have something for you," she said, and pulled an envelope out of her purse. She slid it across the counter to them, expectancy lighting up her eyes. "Go on, open it."

Emily pushed it to Hotch, but he handed it back to her, hand on top of hers. She gingerly slit the envelope with her fingernail, and pulled out an official-looking letter, stamped with the FBI logo. She flipped it open, and scanned the first few lines. "Aaron, it's an exception to fraternization. Thank you so much, Erin! We really appreciate it." She reached out, but Strauss closed the gap between them and pulled her into a hug.

"It was the least I could do. You've been through so much. This should make it a little easier," Strauss explained, with a surprisingly human smile.

"Thank you so much, Erin," said Hotch. "Just, thank you so much."

"Well, I think it's time for me to go," she said lightly. "I'll see you all tomorrow. Keep it professional, alright?"

"Of course," Emily agreed, nestling closer to Hotch.

And with that, Erin Strauss left their house, leaving hope and surprise behind her.

There, standing in the kitchen with Hotch's arm around her, she felt something she hadn't felt in years: safe. JJ had been right. She was back where she belonged, back with her family, and she was going to keep it that way. She had conquered her demons, and the past was still the past. Stretching ahead of her was her future, and it was bright. With glowing eyes, Emily reached out and grabbed it with both hands.

-FIN-


End file.
